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stranger things masterlist

(Eddie Munson, Jim Hopper, Jonathan Byers, Steve Harrington, Billy Hargrove & Robin Buckley) + (OS and series)

harry potter masterlist

(Neville Longbottom x fem¡OCLestrange)

warnings: It mentions torture, death, bullying, abuse, evil, distress…

words: 2,5k

a/n: it’s a bit of an introduction, sorry, the good stuff is coming, i promise.

my main language is not English.

masterlist previous chapt. next

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Chapter four: Belladona

“I don’t understand how you can keep going to that Muggle house when you could perfectly well live here, with all of us…” Draco commented, his tone hovering between incredulity and reproach. His pale eyes settled on his cousin Morwenna, who remained expressionless, her gaze fixed on the plate of gourmet food in front of her. The tableware, pristine and adorned with intricate gold details, only served to highlight the contrast with her mood. She had no appetite. In fact, she hadn’t felt hungry in weeks, lost in thoughts that had consumed her ever since that day in the library.

She barely paid attention to Draco’s words, which seemed to reach her from a distant fog. Deep down, she knew he was right: life in Malfoy Manor was, at least on the surface, comfortable, safe, and luxurious. But neither safety nor luxury could dispel the knot forming in her chest every time she remembered that argument, those furtive glances, and the secret she still couldn’t share with anyone. Not even Harry, who, incidentally, was risking his life in those absurd and dangerous Triwizard Tournament games. How could she think about anything else when her friend was facing deadly trials that only served to feed the magical community’s morbid fascination?

But Draco didn’t understand—or rather, he didn’t want to understand. He kept badgering her with his opinions, as if he believed he could shape her to his will. Worse still, he had started insisting on something Morwenna found unbearable: Viktor Krum. According to Draco, the famous Bulgarian Seeker was an ideal candidate for her, “worthy of her lineage,” he would say with his characteristic air of superiority. What Draco didn’t understand was that Morwenna neither needed nor wanted anyone deciding for her. And least of all turning her love life into yet another tool to reinforce the Malfoys’ blood purity obsessions.

Tired of her cousin’s words, Morwenna did nothing but keep her gaze fixed on her plate. The meat, perfectly cooked and seasoned, hardly seemed like food to her. The pure silver cutlery in her hands felt cold, just like the light that bathed the immense dining table, a distant light devoid of warmth, seeping into every corner of that place. She toyed with the cutlery, twirling it between her fingers as if it were harmless, but in her mind, a storm raged. As Draco continued speaking, his voice faded into the background like a useless echo, growing more distant and more irrelevant with each passing second.

In that moment, Morwenna wasn’t at that table; she was trapped in her own thoughts, her own ghosts, in a world where neither Draco nor his obsession with lineage had any place.

Morwenna couldn’t shake the firm voice of Neville from her mind. It was like a persistent echo, resonating in her head over and over again. She had never heard him speak like that before. Neville Longbottom, the boy who always seemed shy, almost invisible amidst the chaos of Hogwarts, was no longer the submissive boy she remembered. There was something different about him, something that unsettled her and, at the same time, intrigued her.

As Draco’s words continued to flow uninterrupted, Morwenna drifted again into that memory. Her thoughts soon veered toward something much darker, something she didn’t want to relive but that returned to her with the force of a storm: the Ravenclaw’s hands. She closed her eyes briefly, as if that simple gesture could banish the sensation from her mind. But it was useless. The memory of that moment seemed to have left a mark she couldn’t erase, no matter how hard she tried.

It was only when the clatter of silverware against her plate snapped her back to reality that she noticed Draco was still talking. His usual tone, full of superiority and enthusiasm, was starting to pierce through the barrier of her thoughts.

“… So, what do you think? Should I tell him? I’m sure you two would be the best at the ball!” Draco exclaimed, with a confidence as absolute as it was irritating.

Morwenna slowly raised her gaze, barely focusing on him, while her mind was still struggling to push away the images that haunted her. “Yes, yes, whatever…” she murmured at last, too drained to argue, too weary to contradict him.

Draco’s face lit up instantly, as if his cousin’s indifferent words were precisely the approval he’d been waiting for. “Perfect! I knew you’d see it my way!” he remarked with a polite smile, tilting his head slightly in triumph.

While Draco celebrated to himself, Morwenna let out a soft sigh. Though her cousin was delighted, she couldn’t shake the heavy feeling that enveloped her. Her thoughts, always so insistent, slipped back once again to the echo of Neville’s voice and the shadow of that memory she so desperately wanted to forget. Morwenna stood in front of the entrance to the Gryffindor common room, her expression as cold as the stone walls of the castle. Facing her, with a mocking grin and an air of careless confidence, was Cormac McLaggen—the boy who had recently become the center of countless rumors in the corridors of Hogwarts. One particular rumor had brought her here: the blatant lie that he and Morwenna had kissed.

“Who do you think you are?” Morwenna snapped, her voice laced with a restrained fury that could rival the roar of a lion, even though she wasn’t a Gryffindor. Her eyes sparkled dangerously as she pointed a perfectly manicured finger at him, her nails gleaming under the warm light of the torches.

Cormac, instead of backing down, simply raised an eyebrow and smirked, as if her anger was more amusing than threatening. “Oh, come on, Morwenna, don’t be like that. It’s just a bit of fun. Who’s it hurting, really? A little rumor never killed anyone,” he said, his tone dripping with condescension that almost made her lose her temper entirely.

“I didn’t even know you existed until a few days ago,” she shot back sharply, every word cutting like a blade. Her finger remained pointed at him, as if she could pierce through his arrogant facade with the sheer force of her glare.

For a moment, Cormac’s confidence seemed to falter, but he quickly recovered, leaning slightly toward her with a smile that was meant to be charming but only served to irritate her further. “Really? Well, it seems like now you know exactly who I am. And admit it, the rumor isn’t that far-fetched, is it? It could’ve happened…”

Morwenna felt anger surge through her like an uncontrollable wildfire. She closed her eyes briefly, taking a deep breath to keep herself from completely losing her composure. “I’ll say this once, McLaggen. If I hear you spreading anything like that about me again, you’ll regret it. I don’t have time for attention-seeking children,” she said, her voice icy enough to make even Cormac tense slightly.

Cormac narrowed his eyes, his mocking grin twisting into a scowl of irritation. Morwenna’s defiant attitude no longer amused him; his wounded ego was beginning to show in the way he tilted his head and furrowed his brow.

“Oh, yeah?” he shot back, his voice now laced with venom. “Well, that’s not what some of the guys are saying…”

A chill ran down Morwenna’s spine, but she refused to let it show on her face.

“I’ve heard you’ll kiss just abut anyone,” he continued with cruel satisfaction, savoring each word as he studied her with eyes glinting with arrogance. “And, well… it wouldn’t hurt if I joined that list, would it?” he added, his tone dripping with suggestion as he stepped closer.

That was the final straw.

Before she could even process the disgust rising inside her, her body moved on pure instinct. In an instant, her wand was raised, aimed directly at McLaggen’s face.

“Slugulus Eructo!” she cast, her voice steady and blazing with fury.

The spell hit him squarely, and within seconds, Cormac doubled over, his expression shifting from smug to horrified. A sickening, wet sound filled the corridor as the first slug wriggled out of his mouth, followed by another… and another. His face turned pale with revulsion and rage as he fell to his knees, gagging and retching.

Morwenna watched him with a mix of satisfaction and disdain. “That’s the closest you’ll ever get to kissing a girl, you creep,” she spat, her voice carrying through the corridor with such force that several heads turned.

From the Gryffindor common room, a few students peeked out to see what was happening, while in the nearby hallways, conversations fell silent. A ripple of murmurs spread among those witnessing the scene, stunned by the confrontation—and even more so by the punishment Morwenna had just dealt to McLaggen.

But she was no longer there to hear their whispers or see their stares.

The anger that had burned so fiercely just moments ago vanished in an instant, leaving behind something much heavier, much more suffocating. Something inside her cracked at that moment, something that yanked her back to the memory she had fought so hard to bury.

Cormac’s words, his tone, his arrogance… it all reminded her too much of that day in the library.

Her eyes burned with tears before she could stop them. A crushing wave of helplessness hit her so hard she felt like she couldn’t breathe.

Without another word, without even looking back, she spun on her heel and ran—away from the crowd, away from their stares, away from the pain threatening to consume her.

The minutes crawled by as Morwenna hid in the west courtyard, a secluded corner of the castle where few ever ventured. The cool afternoon air brushed against her skin, but it did nothing to ease the burning in her chest or stop the tremors in her hands. She hugged herself tightly, trying to stifle the sobs that still escaped her lips.

It was a quiet place—almost too quiet—save for the sound of her own crying and the soft whisper of the wind stirring the dry leaves scattered across the ground. But then, another sound made her tense. A crunch. The distinct crackling of leaves being stepped on.

Her body reacted before her mind did. Heart pounding, she spun around sharply, bracing herself to face whoever had followed her.

And she found herself face-to-face with Neville Longbottom.

The shock of it left them both frozen for a moment. He had walked straight toward her without realizing she was there, and now they stood so close that she could see the faint flush spreading across his cheeks. Neville awkwardly stepped back, mumbling something under his breath as he avoided her gaze.

Morwenna, however, didn’t look away. Her tears still glistened on her face, but something in her expression had shifted. There was no trace of the usual contempt with which she treated him, nor the disdain she often had for Gryffindors. Only exhaustion remained.

“Oh… it’s you,” she murmured, her voice dull, but lacking the sharp edge of hatred that usually colored her words.

Neville hesitated, as if unsure whether he should stay or leave. But something in his dark eyes—a mixture of concern and nervousness—made Morwenna, for the first time in a long while, feel no urge to put up her usual walls between them.

Neville took a step back, clearly unsure how to react to the situation. “Oh, I didn’t mean to intrude…” he murmured, turning toward the path he had come from, ready to leave as he had arrived.

But before he could take another step, Morwenna, with an unexpected impulse, stopped him. Her hand settled firmly on his arm, as if she didn’t want him to slip away, as if, for some reason, she needed him there.

“Uh… Neville… I…” Morwenna began, her words breaking, barely audible. It was as if the simple act of speaking to him made her unravel even more. Her words tumbled over one another, struggling to emerge, as the tears continued to fall.

“Thank you… for the library… you know, for stepping in…” she finally murmured, her tone lower now, but full of palpable gratitude.

Neville froze, surprised by the words he had just heard. It had been so long since they had had any real interaction, always wrapped in hurtful words and looks full of disdain. He never would have imagined that Morwenna, the same girl who had insulted and belittled him countless times, would now be thanking him for something as simple, yet significant, as this.

“I… I didn’t know what to say… but… well…” Neville stammered, still processing the situation. His gaze softened, and a small, shy smile tugged at the corners of his lips, as if, deep down, he couldn’t help but be touched by her gesture.

Morwenna stared at Neville, her eyes glassy as she fought to regain control over her emotions. Then, suddenly, the reality of the situation hit her. She realized just how vulnerable she must have looked to him, how exposed she was in that moment. A wave of shame washed over her, and her face turned a deep crimson.

In a sudden burst of discomfort, she pulled her hand away from Neville’s arm quickly, as though what had just happened had no place in her life. Her fingers trembled as they disconnected from him, and she hastily wiped away her tears, desperate to erase any trace of the vulnerability she had shown. She grabbed her bag without looking, taking a step back, her unease visible in every one of her movements.

In her haste, she stumbled slightly on the uneven ground, and dry leaves and dirt clung to her right knee and calf. A sharp sting shot up her leg, but she didn’t even pause to check; her only concern was getting away, escaping the discomfort she felt.

“This never happened! Don’t talk to me!” she shouted, her voice a mix of anger and embarrassment, as if pretending none of it had occurred was the only way to salvage what little of her pride remained.

Without waiting for a response, Morwenna spun around, walking briskly, almost slipping again as she rushed to leave. Her breath came in quick, shallow gasps, and her hands, gripping her bag tightly, betrayed just how nervous and confused she felt. As she walked, the images of the library and Neville’s face kept echoing in her mind, but she couldn’t stop. She needed to be alone. She needed to distance herself from him, from the vulnerability she had just exposed.

The days passed slowly, but everything changed when, finally, the date of the long-awaited Yule Ball was announced. Morwenna, who had been eagerly waiting for that moment, found herself caught between excitement and fear. The ball had always been something she had idealized in her mind, a dream where magic and elegance came together, and in her fantasies, she had always imagined a handsome guy by her side, as if that would be the moment she would meet someone with whom to share her life, someone who would become everything to her. Of course, she thought that way every time she kissed a boy, even though the realities were far less ideal than her dreams.

As the days went by, she began to notice something she hadn’t before: Viktor Krum couldn’t take his eyes off her. Every time she entered the Great Hall, she felt his gaze fixed on her, as if she could feel the weight of his eyes even while he was talking to other boys or training with his team. His presence was constant, like a shadow in her line of sight. At first, Morwenna thought she was being paranoid, but when the glances continued even while he was with others, she started to wonder if there might be something more behind it. She then remembered her cousin Draco mentioning Krum in some conversation, suggesting that he might be a good option for her, though at the time she hadn’t paid much attention to that advice.

The glances became a regular thing, but one day, the situation changed abruptly. Krum approached her unexpectedly, and Morwenna felt her heart race with every step he took toward her.

With his deep voice and sweet Bulgarian accent, Krum sat next to her, making his presence feel even more imposing. For a moment, they both stayed silent, as if the air around them became thick. However, it was he who broke the ice, his words filled with a confidence that took her breath away.

“Hello, beautiful Evangeline…” he said, using her second name in such a natural way that Morwenna blushed instantly. It was one of those small things she hadn’t seen coming, something that disarmed her effortlessly.

“I’ve heard very good things about you, both mentally and physically,” he continued, his tone so direct that it made her cheeks burn with a deep blush.

Morwenna didn’t know how to react, surprised by the boldness of his words, but also by the way he said them, so serious, so intense. Before she could process it, Viktor took her hand with a gentleness that didn’t seem to match his imposing figure, and kissed it delicately. His touch was firm, yet at the same time, as if he wanted to make sure she understood what that gesture meant.

The sensation of his lips touching her skin made Morwenna lose her breath, her face completely red. The power of Krum’s gaze, the intensity of his presence, made her heart race, while an uncomfortable knot formed in her stomach. She tried to process what had just happened, but the words seemed to slip away from her mind.

“V-Viktor, right?” she whispered, her voice trembling, unable to believe he was there, in front of her, speaking to her in such a close, direct manner. The mixture of surprise and a strange emotion she couldn’t identify overtook her.

Krum smiled slightly, never taking his eyes off her, and Morwenna could see a spark of amusement in his gaze. Despite the discomfort she felt, something in her chest, deep inside, was awakening. It was a confusing sensation, as if she were trapped between surprise and the desire to see what else would happen in this unexpected encounter.

Morwenna was so lost in her thoughts, caught up in the intensity of Krum’s gaze, that she failed to notice Neville Longbottom watching her from a nearby table. Her mind was still spinning from what had just happened, from the soft brush of his lips on her hand and the way Krum looked at her with that overwhelming fascination. She couldn’t help but wonder what he wanted from her, why he was behaving that way.

But Morwenna’s focus wasn’t on what was happening around her. Instead, her thoughts drifted, caught between confusion, admiration, and a strange emotion that made it hard for her to process everything she was feeling. What she didn’t see, however, was Longbottom’s gaze, fixed on her from across the room as he sat at a table with Ginny Weasley, lost in their studies.

Neville, upon realizing what was happening between Morwenna and Krum, couldn’t help but feel a wave of disgust. His face tightened, and his brow furrowed so intensely that it seemed as though he might pour his disdain over the entire table. It wasn’t just a look of discomfort; it was pure revulsion. Even though Ginny tried to talk to him, Neville couldn’t take his eyes off what was happening in front of him. Every gesture from Krum, every word he directed at Morwenna, seemed to anger him more. The way the Bulgarian looked at her, so confident, so imposing, not only irritated him, but seemed to stir something deeper, something he couldn’t quite identify.

Ginny, noticing Neville’s shift in mood, cast him a questioning glance, but he barely acknowledged her, so absorbed was he in what he was witnessing. His expression was a mix of frustration and something more profound—an unease that gnawed at him as he watched Morwenna, so indifferent to everything around her, so completely absorbed in Krum’s attention.

Unable to hide his disgust any longer, Neville finally diverted his gaze, focusing back on the books in front of him. But even as he did, something inside him kept stirring, something he couldn’t silence.

The days passed quickly, and finally, the moment of the grand dance rehearsal organized by Professor McGonagall arrived. After weeks of announcements, rehearsals, and much speculation, the day came when all the students of Hogwarts would gather to practice their steps for the Yule Ball. The Great Hall, usually spacious, was now packed with students of all ages. The heat was unbearable, and the buzz of the crowd made the atmosphere even denser. The tables, typically arranged in perfect order, had been rearranged to allow students to line up, but it was still nearly impossible to find space. The air felt heavy, and the discomfort was reflected in many faces.

McGonagall, as always, maintained absolute control over the situation. With her usual seriousness, she began calling students one by one, inviting them to step forward to show off their dance skills. She had promised to award five points to each student who impressed others with their dancing prowess, and as expected, many volunteered eagerly, eager to earn those precious points for their house.

However, what no one expected was that McGonagall, in an unexpected twist, decided that students would not only showcase their solo dance skills but would also have to dance with a partner assigned by her. The air in the hall became even tenser, as many exchanged confused glances, wondering who they would be paired with.

The shock was immense when, amid murmurs and nervous laughter, McGonagall called on Morwenna Lestrange and Neville Longbottom. The professor, with her upright posture and unyielding gaze, paired them together, despite the clear discomfort on both their faces.

Morwenna couldn’t believe what was happening. Her face, usually so commanding and confident, showed a mixture of anger and embarrassment. Her expression twisted into a grimace of distaste as, with a defiant attitude, she tried to avoid the situation.

“Uh… Professor, are you sure I can’t be paired with…?” Morwenna murmured, trying to keep her voice low so no one would hear. She was desperate to avoid the humiliation of dancing with Longbottom, the boy she had always looked down on. However, to her misfortune, McGonagall, with her unrelenting authority, responded to her protest aloud.

“Not a chance, Lestrange. You must respect the pairing I’ve chosen. No changes allowed. Deal with it,” the professor said, her tone firm and final, as she continued organizing the other pairs.

Morwenna, now completely trapped in the situation, could hear the muffled laughs rising among the students. Some, unable to contain themselves, whispered to each other, while others watched with a mix of surprise and amusement. The awkwardness of the situation didn’t go unnoticed, and the curious eyes of others seemed heavy, almost as if they were enjoying the drama unfolding before them.

Neville, for his part, didn’t know whether to feel relieved or more embarrassed by the attention the scene was attracting. Though his expression remained relatively neutral, Morwenna could see in his face that he wasn’t enjoying the situation any more than she was. But what frustrated Morwenna the most was the obvious truth: she was trapped. And the thought of having to dance with Longbottom, someone she had despised and ridiculed for so long, made her feel as if she were losing a part of herself.

The atmosphere grew even denser when Neville, though a bit awkward, placed his hand on Morwenna’s waist. The softness of the contact made Morwenna shiver, as if every inch of her skin had reacted to the touch of Neville’s hand. The reaction was immediate and visceral; she grabbed his shoulder tightly, almost as if trying to avoid any kind of closeness, but her fingers inadvertently dug into his skin, leaving a faint mark from her nails. Neville, surprised by the intensity of her grip, let out a puff of air, the tension between them now palpable.

The music began to play, and without warning, their bodies moved in unison, as if they had become an extension of each other. The rhythm of the melody, gentle yet persistent, seemed to spark something between them, an inexplicable connection. Morwenna, although tense at first, began to feel surprised by how effortlessly their movements matched. It wasn’t that she was enjoying the situation, but something inside her began to recognize the fluidity with which they moved together, as if the initial discomfort disappeared with each step they took.

Despite the tension and surprise, they became more than just two people forced to dance together. The fact that they had never communicated smoothly beyond the sharp and awkward words didn’t stop them from moving as if they had been doing it all their lives. It was a bewildering contrast: he, usually clumsy and shy, and she, used to controlling the situation, now moved forward as if they understood each other without needing to speak.

Morwenna, still uncomfortable, couldn’t help but feel a trace of astonishment as she realized that, somehow, they were perfectly in sync. Their feet seemed to move almost autonomously, and as their bodies spun, she couldn’t help but glance at Neville, noticing a mixture of concentration on his face—and something else. She couldn’t put a name to it, but she felt it. As if, for the first time, the situation was beyond frustration or anger, and was touching a new form of connection.

Despite everything that had happened before, everything she had thought about him, Morwenna couldn’t deny that, in that moment, there was something inexplicably captivating in how their bodies, despite their differences, moved together.

After a series of flawless spins and steps, they were the only ones left dancing until the end of the song. The others, either exhausted or uncomfortable, had long since exited the dance floor, abandoning it in the midst of the music’s crescendo. But they continued, somehow, completely absorbed in the moment. Each movement seemed to flow with an almost magical precision, and the connection between them, which had started as something awkward and tense, was transforming into something so fluid that it felt as if the music itself had possessed them. The movements were not just a coordination of steps; there was something more, a tacit understanding that grew with each turn. It was as if they were both in a shared trance, completely immersed in what they were doing.

However, like all good things, the song came to an end. The final chord resonated in the air, and at that precise moment, a loud round of applause burst through the atmosphere, shattering the bubble they had been in. They both separated abruptly, as if a thunderclap had struck between them. Suddenly, the electricity that had been hanging in the air dissipated, and with it, the moment vanished, leaving them back in the same discomfort that had defined their relationship from the start.

Morwenna quickly took a step back, her face now flushed with the embarrassment and awkwardness of what had just happened. What had once been near-perfect synchronization now felt like an invasion of her personal space. She wasn’t sure what she had felt, but that same closeness that had seemed so seamless before now felt foreign, even strange. As she tried to compose herself, she noticed that Neville, also puzzled, stepped back, his expression mirroring her own confusion.

“Bravo! Spectacular!” Professor McGonagall clapped enthusiastically, her excitement unmistakable as she held the vinyl record, clearly waiting to change it. Her face gleamed with satisfaction at having achieved what she had intended, though the atmosphere between the two dancers was far more tense than she had anticipated.

Morwenna and Neville exchanged a fleeting glance, full of discomfort, before their eyes shifted to the floor, as if that simple gesture would allow them to avoid the inevitable. The break in the moment had been as abrupt as the dance itself, and now, amidst the laughter and applause filling the Great Hall, they returned to their original positions: him, the awkward and shy Neville, and her, the ever-proud and reserved Morwenna. The magic that had existed, even if just for a brief moment, had evaporated, leaving only the echo of what had just transpired between them.

tags

(Neville Longbottom x fem¡OCLestrange)

warnings: It mentions torture, death, bullying, abuse, evil, actions without consent, obligations, distress, 0anic attack…

words: 3,5k

a/n: it’s a bit of an introduction, sorry, the good stuff is coming, i promise.

my main language is not English.

masterlist previous chapt. next

━━ ✧♡✧ ━━ ✧♡✧ ━━ ✧♡✧ ━━

Chapter three: Devil Snare

The years passed in the blink of an eye, and with each one, Morwenna seemed to transform before the eyes of those around her. Her character, once curious and somewhat naïve, began to take on an unmistakable air of haughtiness. She walked through the halls of Hogwarts with her head held high, her confident steps echoing with the same arrogance her cousin Draco and his entourage exuded. To many, there was no doubt she was a Lestrange: pure blood and ambition flowed through her veins, or at least that’s what her demeanor and behavior suggested.

However, what few suspected was that behind that arrogant façade lay a far more complex truth. Morwenna wasn’t truly like Draco or his friends; she didn’t entirely share their disdain for others or their apparent certainty in the supremacy of purebloods. But she had learned to play that role with unsettling mastery.

Draco’s influence had been inevitable. From the moment she arrived at Malfoy Manor, she had been exposed to his worldview, his taunts, his biting remarks, and the camaraderie he shared with his group. Crabbe and Goyle would laugh at anything Draco said, and Pansy Parkinson looked at her with a feigned respect that always felt uncomfortable. Morwenna, though initially distant, soon realized that keeping her distance was a dangerous option. So, she decided to adapt.

She became an actress in her own life. She pretended to laugh at Draco’s cruel remarks, even though they often made her stomach churn. She mimicked his arrogant tone when they spoke about other students, though in her mind she questioned every word. Her façade was flawless: the proud cousin of Draco Malfoy, a young Lestrange who didn’t hesitate to assert her place in the magical world.

But at night, when the castle fell silent and the masks faded, Morwenna faced herself. Sometimes she recalled the words of Andromeda, her true mentor, about right and wrong, and she wondered if she was betraying everything she had once been taught. Yet, she also thought of the pressure from the Malfoy family, of Narcissa’s expectations, and of Lucius’s cold, calculating gaze. Pretending to be someone she wasn’t had become her only means of survival.

Despite her façade, there were moments when her true nature surfaced. When she saw a first-year student trip and become the target of ridicule, her first instinct was to help, though she quickly suppressed the impulse to avoid appearing weak. In classes, she excelled in magic, but she preferred to downplay her achievements to avoid drawing too much attention. Everything was carefully calculated, every move part of a delicate balance between maintaining her façade and preserving a shred of her true self.

The arrogance she projected was armor—armor that shielded her from judgment, rejection, and, above all, the possibility that someone might discover she was not, and never would be, entirely a Lestrange like her parents or as Draco wanted her to be.

It was an ordinary day in Morwenna’s second year at Hogwarts, and the castle corridors were bustling with students rushing about, chatting and laughing. Morwenna, however, walked in silence, her gaze cast down, lost in her own thoughts. Her mind wandered between her pending assignments and Draco’s latest remarks when, suddenly, a jarring collision snapped her out of her reverie.

A student had bumped into her, and before she could react, all her belongings tumbled to the floor with a clatter—quills, parchments, and an enormous Potions book that landed squarely on her foot.

“For Merlin’s sake!” Morwenna cried, gritting her teeth as a sharp pain shot through her big toe. Instinctively, she bent down, clutching her foot, and let out a muttered curse. “Who in the name of—?!”

Looking up, her eyes locked with those of Neville Longbottom, who stood frozen in front of her, his face red with embarrassment and his hands trembling.

“Of course, a useless klutz. Who else could it be?” Morwenna snapped, her voice dripping with sarcasm and anger as she leaned down to rub her aching foot. Her tone was laced with contempt, and the hateful glare she shot upward could have made anyone shrink back.

Neville seemed to shrink under the weight of her words at first, but something in his expression shifted almost immediately. For a fleeting moment, he had stepped forward, reaching out a hand to help her, as he often did even with those who didn’t deserve it. But then reality struck him like lightning.

Lestrange.

The name echoed bitterly in his mind, conjuring memories of his parents and that night—the night they were tortured into madness by Bellatrix Lestrange. The initial empathy in his eyes vanished, replaced by an anger rarely seen in him.

“Stupid idiot, get out of my sight,” Morwenna spat coldly, still rubbing her sore foot. Neville, without a word, quickly gathered his things and walked away. But this time, it wasn’t the timid, submissive retreat many expected from him. His jaw was set, and his fists were clenched tightly.

As he moved away, Neville muttered something under his breath, low enough that Morwenna couldn’t hear. It was rare for him to curse anyone, even those who treated him cruelly, but this time he couldn’t stop himself. Just being near her, someone bearing that name, churned his stomach.

The small moments of hatred, both big and small, accumulated over the months and years, like a poisonous spiral that only fed on their mutual contempt. Every time they crossed paths in the hallways, the air would thicken with hostility. Their exchanges of words were always sharp, and their glances were like poisoned knives. It seemed as if they both lived to ruin each other’s day with nothing more than their presence.

It was Morwenna’s third year, and, to her misfortune, they shared a Transfiguration class. The moment Neville arrived late, as was his custom, he had no choice but to sit in front of her. A gesture that, of course, caused an almost malicious smile to spread across Morwenna’s face.

She knew that day would be entertaining. As Professor McGonagall began the lesson, Morwenna had already begun to plot her little revenge. With a subtle and discreet spell, she cast a clumsiness jinx on Neville, hoping to watch him stumble once more under her influence. And as expected, the poor boy did everything he could to perform the spell assigned to them, but only managed to make a fool of himself in front of the class, drawing laughter from his classmates and a stern look from McGonagall.

Morwenna couldn’t help but chuckle quietly, though she did so loudly enough for Neville to hear. Pansy, sitting beside her, also let out a mocking laugh as she watched the boy sink deeper into ridicule.

While McGonagall was busy correcting another student, Morwenna seized the opportunity to make her move. She leaned slightly forward, without moving from her seat, and, with her arm extended, gave Neville’s shoulder a friendly squeeze before quickly slipping a note torn from a parchment into his hands. The note, covered in animated scribbles, read: “Your wand must be broken, because even the simplest spell doesn’t know what to do with your clumsiness.” The note was accompanied by a cruel cartoon of Neville being singed by his own spell, a drawing sure to make anyone who read it laugh. The laughter behind Neville only made him feel more humiliated.

“Your ability to cast spells is so weak that even your frog could learn faster than you,” Morwenna whispered with a twisted smile, as she slowly withdrew, returning to her seat as if nothing had happened. As she sat back down, she watched Neville from over the edge of her desk, seeing the red color creeping up his neck. However, she didn’t care. For her, watching him sink into shame was a small personal pleasure, and the day couldn’t have gone better.

Although her smile still lingered on her face, something inside her tormented her. A small but persistent knot in her stomach slowly began to form as she watched Neville wipe his sleeve across his face, an involuntary gesture that betrayed what he was probably trying to hide: a tear that had escaped. The relief she had felt from seeing his humiliation faded for a moment, replaced by an uncomfortable sensation that she couldn’t quite identify.

Morwenna’s smile slowly dissolved, turning into a strange, almost imperceptible grimace, which she tried to mask by keeping her eyes fixed on her desk. She didn’t want to look at anyone, not even Pansy, who was still laughing beside her. A cold unease settled in her chest, something she had never experienced before in the midst of such a clear victory. Why, after all, did it bother her to see Neville like this?

She glanced at her notebook, but the words seemed blurry. The knot in her stomach was still there, growing, as if what she had just done had left a mark that couldn’t be easily erased. She closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath, trying to shake off that uncomfortable feeling that didn’t seem to align with the person she was trying to be.

In the last term of their third year, Neville and Morwenna shared the same Divination class, which made it an experience Morwenna always enjoyed.

Professor Trelawney moved from student to student, asking about their visions, and Morwenna seized the moment when attention was diverted from her to slip silently to Neville’s side. No one heard her approach.

“Are you sure you can see anything in that ball, Longbottom?” she whispered, her tone sharp as a dagger, but loud enough for some of the nearby students to hear.

Neville looked up, confused and annoyed. “Go back to your disgusting seat, I don’t need any opinions, especially not yours.”

“Of course you don’t,” she continued, a flash of malice in her eyes. “Because all I see there is a dark future. A future where you become a great wizard? I don’t think so. More like one where you’re still the laughingstock of everyone, right?”

The group of nearby students couldn’t help but laugh at her remark. Neville’s face turned red, and his gaze immediately dropped to the table, feeling the weight of their laughter on him.

Morwenna didn’t let the moment slip by without adding her final touch of poison. “Aren’t you ashamed, Neville? You’re so lost that not even your visions of the future can save you.”

The laughter grew among the students. Neville trembled slightly, his nervous hands gripping the crystal ball as if it were his only anchor in the world.

At that moment, Professor Trelawney, with her large glasses and dreamy gaze, approached their group. “What’s going on here, Morwenna? Aren’t you learning about the true magic of the future?”

Morwenna feigned surprise, placing a hand on her chest theatrically. “Oh, professor, I’m just giving Neville a little… inspiration, so he can see what’s ahead of him. After all, he has so much to learn.”

Neville looked to Trelawney, seeking help, but the professor didn’t seem to notice the cruel tone in Morwenna’s words, lost in her own esoteric thoughts.

“Interesting,” murmured Trelawney, oblivious to the harm. “Perhaps that’s an omen of what’s to come, Neville. Trust your intuition.”

Morwenna returned to her seat with a victorious smile, knowing that, once again, she had left her mark. Although Trelawney continued speaking about the future, Morwenna knew she had won: Neville wouldn’t be able to shake off that bitter taste, and the whispers among the other students would confirm that everyone knew what she had done.

As the end of the school year approached and her fourth year began, Morwenna had solidified herself as one of the most admired Slytherins at all of Hogwarts. Her beauty, a blend of features inherited from the Blacks and the Lestranges, made her stand out in any crowd, but it was her ability to manipulate situations to her advantage that made her truly dangerous. While she possessed a natural charisma, that was just one facet of her complexity. No one could deny that, despite her cold facade, she had the ability to adapt and win the sympathy of those around her.

The boys, especially the older ones, seemed to fall at her feet. Many of the sixth and seventh years sought her attention, inviting her to stroll through Hogsmeade or simply spend time with her, hoping for something more than just companionship. They were shrewd, manipulative, and Morwenna, with her growing confidence, often fell into their traps. She knew how to take advantage of others, but she also understood that in this game, the more experienced players sometimes held the upper hand.

On the fourth day of the new year, as the first leaves of autumn fell outside, Morwenna received an invitation to meet in the library. A boy from a higher year had asked her to meet him that night, under the pretense of studying together. The chosen location was discreet and secluded, in the G section of books, right in a hidden corner that couldn’t be seen from the librarian’s desk. The library, that sanctuary of knowledge, thus became the perfect setting for what she thought would be a simple study session, or at least, that’s what she wanted to believe.

The boy, with dark hair and bright eyes, seemed like an excellent opportunity for Morwenna: someone with more experience in everything, someone who could teach her something useful for her studies. She thought that, as in many other situations, she could use this to her advantage. However, what she didn’t know was that, as she entered that dark and secluded corner of the library, she wasn’t just walking toward a study of potions or spells—she was also walking directly into the lion’s den.

Morwenna, with a mix of nervousness and curiosity, slowly approached the section of the library where the boy had said they would meet. The books on Divination and Herbology, subjects that had always been difficult for her, felt slightly heavy in her hands, but she couldn’t shake the faint shiver running through her as she thought that perhaps something more than studying would happen that night. The seventh-year boy, one of the most popular with a captivating gaze, was someone she had never imagined she would find herself in this kind of situation with. Yet, there he was, in a secluded corner of the library, during the late hours reserved for students.

When she saw him, she blushed instantly. He, with his tall frame and dark hair, greeted her in a confident tone. “How’s it going, little one?” he asked, his voice soft but carrying a certain authority. His flawless, almost arrogant features only added to the tension building in the air. With an unexpected gesture, he hugged her, rubbing his hand firmly against her back. Morwenna stiffened, unsure of what to do, while the blush on her face deepened. The hug was warm, but something in the way he held her, possessively, made her feel an odd discomfort that she tried to ignore.

Placing the books on the table, Morwenna tried to focus on studying. “So, what is it that…?” she began to say, but couldn’t finish the sentence.

Suddenly, the boy moved closer to her, his presence overwhelming. In the blink of an eye, he trapped her between him and the low table, his face so close that his warm breath mingled with hers. Before she could react, his lips attacked hers with a passion that completely took her by surprise. Morwenna couldn’t help the shock and fear that flooded her as her hands, still gripping the books, fell to the side. The sensation of her body trapped between him and the table made her feel vulnerable, as though she had no way out.

The kiss, deep and unexpected, left her breathless, and though she initially tried to pull away, something inside her kept her frozen, feeling a confusing mix of emotions.

The young man stood close to Morwenna, his presence enveloping her in a mixture of nervousness and excitement. Every gesture, every glance, seemed to take Morwenna's breath away, who slowly began to relax, letting herself be carried away by the illusion of an eternal and pure adolescent love. However, her dreams vanished when, with a firm hand, the boy pushed her towards the desk, forcing her to give in and settle on its edge. A faint rustle accompanied the advance of lips and curious hands exploring her skin, melting into a whirlwind of confused sensations.

Morwenna, in the midst of emotional turbulence, searched desperately for a foothold, but her hands wandered aimlessly, finally stopping at the sides of her own thighs, mute witnesses to her bewilderment. It wasn't until she felt the boy's hands ascend her legs, defying boundaries and intimacies, that the thread of her reality began to fray.

The young woman was startled to notice her skirt being lifted, revealing the suggestive skin of her thighs and causing her stockings to slip slightly in a dangerous game. Uncomfortable and confused, Morwenna parted her lips from the boy's, only to be silenced by a rough grip over her mouth, accompanied by a grin full of mischief on the young man's face.

"What do you think you're doing, let go of me!" exclaimed Morwenna in a trembling voice, trying to free herself from the suffocating pressure echoing in her chest. The boy, in response, continued with invasive gestures, sliding his playful fingers into the lace of her panties, causing Morwenna to feel an overwhelming sense of vulnerability and helplessness.

The situation became increasingly distressing as the agitated struggling made the ancient wood of the desk creak, accompanied by the sound of Morwenna's wrenching resistance. Desperate attempts to push the boy away culminated in a pleading cry, interrupted by a painful grip on his face.

"Stop! No more!" whispered Morwenna between sobs, as the boy persisted in his advance, moving his exploring hands into forbidden territories and causing a shiver of terror to run down the young woman's spine. With a violent gesture, the boy pulled her tightly to him, making her feel the unwanted brush of his body against hers, unleashing a torrent of anxiety and fear that vibrated in the tension-laden air.

And at the height of Morwenna's despair, when all seemed lost in the abysmal darkness of helplessness, a powerful incantation resounded in the silence of the library, uttered with determination.

"Depulso!"

The word, uttered by Neville with a tone that cut through the air like lightning, triggered an explosive reaction. The boy stalking Morwenna was thrown backwards violently, impacting painfully against the library table and causing books and scrolls to tumble tumultuously in its crashing trajectory.

Morwenna, overwhelmed by a mixture of fear and relief, clung to her books as if they were her only lifeline. Her wrinkled and soiled clothes reminded her of the violence of what had happened, forcing her to escape into a silence laden with anguish and grief. As she left the library, Neville looked at the much older boy with disgust.

After that incident, something changed in Morwenna. From that day on, she avoided looking Neville in the eye. There was something in his gaze, a sense of discomfort that took hold of her every time he was near. She no longer spoke a single cruel word to him, not even one of those biting remarks that had once been her signature. Instead, she distanced herself from him, seeking refuge in anything that could offer her a little peace, as if his presence had become something that caused her shame. She hid behind her friends, especially her cousin Draco, seeking comfort in his closeness to avoid facing the growing unease she felt whenever she crossed paths with the boy who, unintentionally, had shown a vulnerability that had left her disarmed.

This change, though subtle at first, was profound. Morwenna took refuge in a façade of flirting, a temporary escape that gave her a sense of power and control. She sought attention from boys, not just from those in her magical circle, but also from Muggles who lived near her Aunt Andromeda’s house. She threw herself into those small interactions, those gestures of affection and desire, believing that somehow, they made her feel better. She felt the need to be seen, to be wanted, for her worth not to depend solely on the image others had of her, but on the attention she could attract around her.

Morwenna, like many teenagers who don’t know how to deal with their insecurities, became dependent on those small doses of external approval. She seemed like a confident girl, but the truth was that her need to be loved was leading her to an even greater emptiness, a constant search for validation that she could never completely satisfy. Despite being surrounded by boys who admired her, by that superficial interest, something was still missing—a hole inside her that the compliments from others couldn’t fill.

tags

symbols and meanings:

★ series ♥︎ smut ꥟ oneshot ༄ fluff  angst

✿ x reader ☾ x fem!reader 𒊹︎ x OC 𖣯 x masc!reader

═══════ ≫ ♡ ≪ ════════

neville longbottom

★ ༄  𒊹︎ stay away from me, lestrange!

𝕝𝕖𝕤𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕟𝕘𝕖!

ღ pairing: Neville Longbottom × OCfem!Lestrange

ღ summary: Morwenna Evangelinne Lestrange was born on October 31, 1980, on a dark and stormy night that seemed to foreshadow her destiny. Daughter of the feared marriage of Death Eaters Bellatrix Black and Rodolphus Lestrange, her arrival into the world was marked by the echo of dark magic and power.

Barely a year after her birth, her parents were arrested and imprisoned in Azkaban for their active involvement in the First Wizarding War. They were loyal accomplices of Lord Voldemort, committing acts of unspeakable cruelty. With her parents behind bars, the guardianship of Morwenna fell to her aunt Narcisa Malfoy, who had also given birth to a son that same year. Thus, Gelinne and her cousin Draco were raised together in the opulent Malfoy Manor, under the strict supervision of Lucius.

From an early age, Gelinne was taught the most elegant and refined manners. Lucius Malfoy insisted that, as a pureblood, she must maintain an impeccable appearance and impeccable conduct. Morwenna's education was rigorous, designed to instill in her the values and superiority of her lineage.

Over the years, Gelinne grew up alongside Draco, sharing not only their education but also the ignorance of her parents' crimes. She knew of them only by their names and their portraits, imposing and mysterious figures that adorned the walls of the manor.

Finally, the anticipated moment came to attend the prestigious school of magic, Hogwarts. Alongside her cousin Draco, Morwenna quickly earned the respect of her fellow Slytherins and other students, thanks to her distinguished bearing and innate magical ability.

ღ warning: It mentions torture, death, bullying, abuse, evil, distress, sex…

ღ a/n: this is a work created by me, which means I haven't relied on anyone or anything to make it, and I don't accept any adaptation or translation since l've already taken care of both myself c:

————————》✧《—————————

ღ chapter one

ღ chapter two

ღ chapter three

(Neville Longbottom x fem¡OCLestrange)

introduction: Morwenna Evangelinne Lestrange was born on October 31, 1980, on a dark and stormy night that seemed to foreshadow her destiny. Daughter of the feared marriage of Death Eaters Bellatrix Black and Rodolphus Lestrange, her arrival into the world was marked by the echo of dark magic and power.

Barely a year after her birth, her parents were arrested and imprisoned in Azkaban for their active involvement in the First Wizarding War. They were loyal accomplices of Lord Voldemort, committing acts of unspeakable cruelty. With her parents behind bars, the guardianship of Morwenna fell to her aunt Narcisa Malfoy, who had also given birth to a son that same year. Thus, Gelinne and her cousin Draco were raised together in the opulent Malfoy Manor, under the strict supervision of Lucius.

From an early age, Gelinne was taught the most elegant and refined manners. Lucius Malfoy insisted that, as a pureblood, she must maintain an impeccable appearance and impeccable conduct. Morwenna’s education was rigorous, designed to instill in her the values and superiority of her lineage.

Over the years, Gelinne grew up alongside Draco, sharing not only their education but also the ignorance of her parents’ crimes. She knew of them only by their names and their portraits, imposing and mysterious figures that adorned the walls of the manor.

Finally, the anticipated moment came to attend the prestigious school of magic, Hogwarts. Alongside her cousin Draco, Morwenna quickly earned the respect of her fellow Slytherins and other students, thanks to her distinguished bearing and innate magical ability.

warnings: It mentions torture, death, bullying, abuse, evil, distress…

words: 2k

a/n: it’s a bit of an introduction, sorry, the good stuff is coming, i promise.

my main language is not English.

masterlist previous chapt. next

━━ ✧♡✧ ━━ ✧♡✧ ━━ ✧♡✧ ━━

Chapter two: Gurdyroot

Morwenna tried to push her thoughts aside as she recalled how her aunt, Andromeda, had reluctantly agreed to let her spend a week at Malfoy Manor. It had all been Draco’s idea, presented as a chance for them to get to know each other better. Yet, something in Andromeda’s gaze when she gave her consent unsettled Morwenna. It was as if her aunt knew something she wasn’t privy to.

Now, sitting in the Hogwarts Express compartment with Draco, Morwenna watched the blurred scenery rushing past the window. The journey back to the station was steeped in an odd silence. Draco, his nearly white blonde hair perfectly styled and his demeanor as arrogant as ever, seemed lost in his own thoughts—or at least pretended to be.

The compartment wasn’t empty. Across from them sat three house-elves sent to escort them. Each one looked more unpleasant than the last, with long ears and grayish skin that gave them an eerie, nightmare-like appearance. One of them kept coughing in a grating, raspy way, another scratched its arm incessantly with twisted nails, and the smallest of the three was so jittery it couldn’t keep its eyes fixed on anything.

Morwenna tried not to stare, but their presence made the already tense atmosphere feel even heavier. She shifted her focus to Draco, hoping he’d say something—anything—to break the oppressive silence. But he merely crossed his arms and stared out the window, his expression of boredom perfectly practiced.

When the train finally arrived at the station, they disembarked slowly, followed by the house-elves lugging their trunks and bags. Waiting for them was a black carriage pulled by Thestrals, shrouded in a mist that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. Though they couldn’t see the creatures pulling it, Morwenna shivered at the hollow sound of hooves on stone and the faint rustling of wings that dissipated into the breeze.

The ride in the carriage was as quiet as the train ride had been. The house-elves were crammed into a corner, muttering in a language she couldn’t understand, while Draco lounged back, exuding nonchalance with a calculating glint in his gray eyes. Morwenna clung to the window, her gaze fixed on the darkened landscape as she tried to steady the whirlwind of thoughts crowding her mind.

There was something unsettling about the idea of spending a week at Malfoy Manor, an unease she couldn’t quite name but felt like a shadow lurking at the edges of her consciousness.

When they arrived at their destination, the house-elves began unloading everything with astonishing speed. With a simple snap of their fingers, the enormous black carriage that had brought them shrank instantly, transforming into a small, delicate object that looked like an intricate toy. Morwenna watched in fascination as a hand, gloved in fine black leather, reached forward to pick it up with precision. The hand belonged to a tall, slender man whose platinum blond hair was perfectly slicked back.

He took the tiny carriage and, without a word, slipped it into the deep pocket of an impeccably tailored black jacket that looked as expensive as it was intimidating. His entire figure radiated a blend of elegance and coldness that was hard to ignore. When Morwenna looked up at his face, she was met with an ironic, slightly forced smile. There was something in his gaze that unsettled her—a calculating scrutiny, as though he were measuring every detail about her in mere seconds.

Beside him, in stark contrast, stood a woman of refined beauty. Her golden blonde hair, sleek and styled to perfection, cascaded in soft waves that framed her pale face. Her piercing light eyes held a glimmer of unexpected kindness, softening her expression. This was, undoubtedly, Narcissa Malfoy—the aunt Andromeda had mentioned so often.

“Welcome, Morwenna,” Narcissa said with a warm smile, stepping forward to greet her. Her voice was gentle and melodic, but carried an undeniable air of authority that didn’t need to be asserted.

Morwenna, still slightly thrown off by the impression the man—who she guessed must be Lucius Malfoy—had made on her, inclined her head slightly in greeting, trying to recall the lessons on decorum her Aunt Andromeda had always emphasized.

“Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy,” she replied politely, though her tone carried a mix of curiosity and caution.

Lucius said nothing at first, merely observing her with his distant and calculating air. At last, he gave a slight nod before turning his attention to Draco, who stood off to the side with his arms crossed, acting as though the entire scene was beneath his notice.

“I trust our guest knows how to conduct herself in a manner befitting her name,” Lucius said in a low, silky voice laced with implicit venom.

Morwenna felt a shiver run down her spine, but before she could reply, Narcissa placed a hand on her husband’s arm, a silent gesture that seemed to calm him without words.

“Come, dear,” Narcissa said gently, ignoring Lucius’s remark. “Let’s go inside. I’m sure the journey has been exhausting, and everything is ready to make you feel at home.”

Morwenna nodded, though something in the air—or perhaps in the way Lucius looked at her—made it clear that the days ahead in Malfoy Manor would be far from peaceful.

In truth, Morwenna’s presence at Malfoy Manor had not been Draco’s whim, but Lucius’s design. The patriarch of the Malfoy family deemed it crucial that the young Lestrange understand her roots, her lineage, and most importantly, the power she was destined to claim as a descendant of one of the most illustrious and feared magical families. For Lucius, this visit was the perfect opportunity to mold her, to draw her closer to the Dark Arts, as he had already done with his own son.

After settling into one of the mansion’s grand bedrooms—adorned with green velvet curtains and intricately carved dark wood furniture—Morwenna decided to explore. The hallways seemed endless, every corner cloaked in mystery. Portraits followed her with their eyes, chandeliers cast dancing shadows, and glass cases held magical artifacts that seemed to whisper secrets to anyone who dared to get too close.

As she wandered, nearly lost, a soft, hurried sound made her pause. Suddenly, a house-elf appeared before her, as if it had materialized from the shadows. Small, gray-skinned, and sharp-eared, the elf looked agitated, its expression a mix of nervousness and urgency.

“Miss Lestrange, Miss Lestrange!” it stammered in a high-pitched, melodic voice, its eyes darting about as though it feared being seen.

Morwenna frowned, intrigued. “What is it? Why the rush?” she asked, leaning slightly toward the elf to hear better.

The tiny creature opened its mouth as if about to confess something, but just as it was on the verge of speaking, a chill ran down Morwenna’s spine. A cold hand settled on her shoulder, startling her. The elf jumped and stumbled back several steps, nearly tripping in the process.

“It’s time for dinner,” came the icy, calculated voice of Lucius Malfoy. His tone brooked no argument, and though his face bore a smile, it didn’t reach his eyes.

Morwenna turned her head to look at him, her heart racing. There was something unsettling about the way he looked at her, as if he knew exactly what was happening and had taken pleasure in disrupting it.

The elf, terrified, gave a clumsy bow before vanishing in the blink of an eye, leaving Morwenna alone with Lucius.

“Come along, dear,” he said with a disturbing softness, his hand remaining on her shoulder as he guided her down the hallway toward the dining room. “We wouldn’t want dinner to get cold. And remember, this is your home too… at least while you’re here.”

Morwenna nodded slowly, the weight of his words settling heavily on her as they walked.

A few seemingly quiet days passed, though the atmosphere in Malfoy Manor remained tense and cold, as if every word and gesture were carefully calculated. Morwenna couldn’t shake the feeling of being an outsider, watched closely by everyone—especially Lucius, whose presence was as imposing as it was unsettling.

The next day, Lucius and Narcissa decided to take her to visit several properties belonging to the Black family. The estates were grand, steeped in history that seemed to cling to the marble floors, the tapestry-covered walls, and the towering windows that let in only the faintest light.

In one of the houses, Narcissa led her to a room that felt like a mausoleum of lineage and pride. One entire wall was taken up by an enormous family tree painted with meticulous detail. The names of the Black family members shimmered in golden script under the soft glow of floating lamps.

“This is our legacy, Morwenna,” Narcissa said softly, gesturing to the tree. “Here lie our roots, our triumphs, and… our betrayals.”

Her finger paused at a specific point where a name had been burned away, leaving a charred void. Morwenna frowned, immediately recognizing where her Aunt Andromeda’s name should have been.

“Andromeda…” she murmured, almost to herself.

“She was a mistake,” Narcissa said, her voice laced with barely restrained disapproval. “She turned her back on her lineage and married a Mudblood. That’s what happens when one forgets who they are and where they come from.”

Morwenna didn’t respond, her gaze following the tree’s branches. She scanned the unfamiliar names until her eyes landed on two she knew all too well: her mother, Bellatrix Lestrange, and her father, Rodolphus.

She stepped closer, studying the portraits cautiously. Though stylized in the tree’s artistic design, the faces of her parents seemed to burn with a strange intensity. Their gazes, even painted, unsettled her in ways she couldn’t quite explain.

Slowly, she reached out toward her mother’s face, as if searching for some connection in the cold, painted surface. Her fingertips hovered inches away when a voice broke through her thoughts.

“Morwenna,” Narcissa called, her tone firm but not harsh, a warning wrapped in gentleness. Startled, Morwenna pulled her hand back, turning quickly to face her aunt. “It’s easy to get lost in memories of the past,” Narcissa said, stepping closer. “But remember, the past doesn’t always hold the answers you’re looking for. Sometimes, looking back too much can be dangerous.”

The days passed in an uneasy stillness, the tension within Malfoy Manor palpable, as if the walls themselves bristled with secrets. Morwenna had grown accustomed to the cold glances and measured words, but today, in front of the Black family tree, the weight of her ancestry pressed down on her more heavily than ever.

She stared at the charred void where Andromeda’s name had been obliterated, her thoughts tangled in questions she couldn’t yet ask. Narcissa’s words, spoken with calm authority, still hung in the air, wrapping around her like a cold mist. Unable to bear the silence any longer, she finally spoke.

“I… I don’t understand, Aunt Narcissa,” Morwenna said softly, her gaze still fixed on her mother’s name. “I don’t know anything about my mother. Andromeda never told me much… only that she died in the Wizarding War.”

At this, Narcissa froze. Her usually composed expression faltered, her eyes widening slightly in shock before narrowing with a mixture of disdain and disbelief. “What did you just say?” she asked, her voice low but sharp, each word clipped with irritation.

Morwenna shifted uncomfortably, feeling the weight of her aunt’s scrutiny. “Andromeda told me my parents died in the war,” she repeated, though the words sounded less certain now, as if cracks were forming in the foundation of what she thought she knew.

“Died in the war?” Narcissa repeated, her voice dripping with contempt. A bitter, humorless laugh escaped her lips. “Of course, Andromeda would say that. She always did have a talent for twisting the truth to suit her whims.”

Morwenna’s heart quickened. “So… it’s not true?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, the first threads of doubt unraveling her carefully constructed understanding.

Narcissa sighed, long and deliberate, as though preparing herself to shatter the fragile lie. She stepped closer, placing a firm hand on Morwenna’s shoulder, forcing her to meet her gaze.

“No, Morwenna,” she said with a cold finality, her words as sharp as a blade. “It’s not true. Your parents, Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange, are not dead. They’re alive… though they might wish they weren’t. They’re in Azkaban.”

The name struck like a thunderclap. Azkaban. Morwenna’s legs felt weak, her breath shallow. “Azkaban?” she echoed, her voice trembling. “Why… why are they there? What did they do?”

Narcissa’s expression hardened, pride flickering in her ice-blue eyes. “They were loyal servants of the Dark Lord—of Lord Voldemort,” she said, her tone reverent yet unyielding. “They fought for him, sacrificed for him. And when he fell, they didn’t waver. Your parents, along with a few others, sought vengeance. They captured the Longbottoms—Dumbledore’s allies—and used the Cruciatus Curse to extract information about his whereabouts.”

The words sent a chill through Morwenna’s body. Her mind flashed back to Neville Longbottom, his voice trembling with fury in the Great Hall: “Your parents tortured mine!” It had been a dagger then, but now the truth plunged deeper, the wound raw and bleeding.

“And… and that’s why they’re in Azkaban?” she managed to ask, her voice barely audible.

“For that, and because they refused to betray their ideals,” Narcissa replied, her voice steady, almost admiring. “Your parents believed in the purity of magic, in the greatness of their cause. And they never repented. Not once. Bellatrix, especially, was… indomitable.”

Morwenna stood rooted to the spot, her emotions swirling—fear, confusion, and something unnameable, a strange pride she couldn’t fully understand or accept.

“That’s why I’m so astonished, Morwenna,” Narcissa continued, her gaze piercing. “Andromeda hid all of this from you. Perhaps she wanted to protect you from the truth, or perhaps she’s ashamed of our family. But I won’t do the same. You’re a Lestrange, and you deserve to know who your parents were and what they stood for.”

Morwenna looked up, her thoughts spinning in chaotic loops. “Do you think I should… know more about them?” she asked hesitantly.

“Of course you should,” Narcissa said firmly, stepping closer. “You carry the blood of the Blacks and the Lestranges in your veins. That’s not just blood, Morwenna—it’s power, history, legacy. And while Andromeda may have tried to erase that part of you, it’s time for you to claim it.”

Morwenna remained silent, her mind a storm of conflicting thoughts. Deep within her, a seed of curiosity—and something darker—began to sprout. Narcissa’s words resonated, undeniable in their truth. It was time to uncover the past, to understand who she truly was… even if that truth could change everything.

The sound of Narcissa’s heels echoed through the silent mansion, marking the steps of her elegant and cold figure as she approached the sofa where Lucius Malfoy rested, in an equally tense posture. The wine glass in his hand made a faint tinkling sound as she sat on the armrest of the sofa, her proximity to her husband almost perfect, as if in that physical space there also resided an emotional disconnect.

“Have you spoken to her about that?” Lucius’s voice cut through the air, low and controlled, as always. His eyes gleamed with an icy intensity as he took a sip of his wine, waiting for Narcissa’s response. The question needed no clarification; they both knew what he was referring to.

Narcissa looked at him for a moment, her face set in a serene yet calculating expression. For a second, her blue eyes softened, showing a hint of concern that only a keen observer could detect.

“Yes,” she answered calmly. “Morwenna knows the truth about her parents. At least, what she needs to know… though she doesn’t fully understand it.”

Lucius studied her for a long moment, his gaze fixed on the glass, as though he were contemplating the implications of her words. “And what do you hope to achieve with that?” he asked at last, his tone tinged with a cold curiosity. “Do you expect her to align with our ideals, as her mother and father did? Or do you want her to become a tool for a greater purpose?”

Narcissa let out a small smile, which did little to ease the tension between them. “Morwenna has her own path to follow, Lucius. I’m not trying to force her into anything. But it’s clear she can’t continue living in ignorance, as Andromeda has kept her. She’s a Lestrange, and it’s time she understood what it really means to be one.”

Lucius nodded slowly, but his gaze never lost that calculating coldness that characterized him. “We must ensure she’s not a weakness, Narcissa. A weak piece in a game that no longer has room for mistakes.”

Narcissa looked at her husband for a moment, her eyes glimmering with a mix of love and disdain. “She won’t be,” she said firmly, assuring that Morwenna would not fall into the shadows of ignorance, but without revealing all the nuances of her own thoughts.

Silence stretched between them, heavy and palpable, as both of them lost themselves in their own reflections. Morwenna, in her distant room, remained unaware of the conversation, immersed in the echoes of the day’s revelations. In the distance, the wind hit the windows of the mansion, making the cold night feel even darker.

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(Neville Longbottom x fem¡OCLestrange)

introduction: Morwenna Evangelinne Lestrange was born on October 31, 1980, on a dark and stormy night that seemed to foreshadow her destiny. Daughter of the feared marriage of Death Eaters Bellatrix Black and Rodolphus Lestrange, her arrival into the world was marked by the echo of dark magic and power.

Barely a year after her birth, her parents were arrested and imprisoned in Azkaban for their active involvement in the First Wizarding War. They were loyal accomplices of Lord Voldemort, committing acts of unspeakable cruelty. With her parents behind bars, the guardianship of Morwenna fell to her aunt Narcisa Malfoy, who had also given birth to a son that same year. Thus, Gelinne and her cousin Draco were raised together in the opulent Malfoy Manor, under the strict supervision of Lucius.

From an early age, Gelinne was taught the most elegant and refined manners. Lucius Malfoy insisted that, as a pureblood, she must maintain an impeccable appearance and impeccable conduct. Morwenna’s education was rigorous, designed to instill in her the values and superiority of her lineage.

Over the years, Gelinne grew up alongside Draco, sharing not only their education but also the ignorance of her parents’ crimes. She knew of them only by their names and their portraits, imposing and mysterious figures that adorned the walls of the manor.

Finally, the anticipated moment came to attend the prestigious school of magic, Hogwarts. Alongside her cousin Draco, Morwenna quickly earned the respect of her fellow Slytherins and other students, thanks to her distinguished bearing and innate magical ability.

warnings: It mentions torture, death, bullying, abuse, evil, distress…

words: 2k

a/n: i’m totally in love with Neville, but I feel bad about pairing him with a Lestrange, though it’s also super intriguing. it’ll basically be like a mini-series. basically, this chapter is just setting up what’s coming next.

My main language is not English

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Chapter one: Mandrakes

Morwenna Evangelinne Lestrange came into the world on October 31, 1980, on a dark and stormy night that seemed to foreshadow the destiny that awaited her. Born to the feared Death Eater couple, Bellatrix Black and Rodolphus Lestrange, her birth was steeped in an aura of dark magic and power.

Just one year after her arrival, her parents were arrested and sent to Azkaban, condemned for their crucial role in the First Wizarding War. As devoted followers of Lord Voldemort, they committed unimaginable acts of cruelty, leaving behind a legacy marked by terror. With both parents imprisoned, the young Lestrange was placed under the care of her aunt, Andromeda Black—now Andromeda Tonks—who, having renounced the rigid traditions of the Black family, lived a simple and quiet life with her husband, Ted Tonks, and their daughter, Nymphadora. Thus, Morwenna and her cousin grew up together in the warm and modest Tonks household.

The decision to grant custody to Andromeda was not, of course, Bellatrix’s will but rather a measure imposed by the Ministry of Magic through the Department of Magical Welfare. After careful evaluation, the Ministry determined that the Tonks family would provide the safest and most suitable environment for raising the child. Over the years, Morwenna grew up in a Muggle-influenced setting with touches of magic, surrounded by a harmonious and stable atmosphere that starkly contrasted with her roots. Unaware of her parents’ dark legacy, she only knew their faces from old photographs showing the Black sisters together. She could neither recognize her father nor imagine the atrocities her parents had committed.

Andromeda had spun a vague and convenient tale about her parents’ “deaths” during the devastating Wizarding War. In her account, she avoided specific or uncomfortable details, leaving the girl with an idealized image of her mother as a heroine who gave her life fighting for the greater good. However, what Andromeda did not dare confess—perhaps out of fear or shame—was that Morwenna’s mother was not only alive but had been a devoted follower of the very man her daughter believed had killed her.

In 1991, the same year her cousin Nymphadora graduated from Hogwarts, Morwenna received her own letter of acceptance to the school of witchcraft and wizardry. Her arrival was marked by a moment of uncertainty under the Sorting Hat, which deliberated for some time before placing her in a house. Ultimately, as if her bloodline spoke louder than her upbringing, she was sorted into Slytherin, beginning her own journey within the magical legacy she still did not fully understand.

Despite being placed in Slytherin, Morwenna stood out from the start for being unusually considerate for someone with her lineage. Her cunning and notable intelligence were undeniable, but her balanced character set her apart from the stereotype of her house. During her early years at Hogwarts, she began to interact with her cousin Draco Malfoy, who respected her only for her pureblood status rather than their family connection. He frequently lectured her on how much “better” her upbringing would have been if she had been raised under her mother’s tutelage, surrounded by the rigid traditions of the Black family. Despite her cousin’s criticisms, Morwenna found her own place in Slytherin, forming friendships with several of her housemates. However, her ability to connect with students from different houses made her unique among her peers. Notably, she developed a relationship of respect and eventual friendship with the Golden Trio of Gryffindor. This, unsurprisingly, was not well received among her Slytherin companions, who looked down on her interactions with Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

Morwenna, however, refused to let the opinions of others affect her. What distinguished her, beyond her strategic mind and kindness, was her ability to navigate between different worlds and challenge the expectations placed upon her.

Everything seemed to be going smoothly for her. Despite the challenges of being a Slytherin who defied her house’s norms, she found her place in the school and built relationships that reflected her unique character. It was during her first year that she met a timid and clumsy boy whom her cousin Draco constantly bullied: Neville Longbottom. Draco’s cruelty toward him deeply irritated Morwenna, and one day, she decided to intervene after witnessing one of these episodes.

During a flying lesson, Neville lost control of his broom and ended up precariously dangling from a statue. Morwenna, terrified by the situation, watched helplessly as the boy finally fell to the ground, breaking his arm upon impact. She wanted to rush to help him, but Professor Hooch’s strict orders to stay grounded kept her frozen in place, powerless to act. Concern gnawed at her all afternoon, and she could not rest until the next day, when she finally had the chance to visit him in the infirmary. She was the only one who did so, a gesture that deeply surprised Neville.

“Hello, Longbottom,” the girl greeted in a calm, almost melodic voice, her pristine green robes perfectly tailored, emphasizing her place in Slytherin.

Neville slowly opened his eyes, as if waking from a nightmare only to find himself in another. Recognizing her, a wave of nervousness enveloped him. She wasn’t just any Slytherin; she was always beside Draco Malfoy, like a sharp, dangerous shadow. Her presence could only mean trouble, and with his heart pounding like a drum, Neville clutched the bedsheets desperately, as if they could protect him. “What do you want? Please, don’t hurt me!” he pleaded, his panicked gaze darting around for an escape he knew didn’t exist.

Lestrange recoiled slightly at his reaction. For a moment, her mask of composure faltered. She frowned, her lips forming a slight moue of confusion, tilting her head as if trying to solve a particularly puzzling riddle.

“Why are you reacting like that?” she asked serenely, though a genuine note of curiosity colored her tone. Her eyes studied him closely, searching for answers in his every move. “I just wanted to see if you were okay… after all that.”

Neville, still on edge, felt the air thick with awkwardness. Yet something in her tone—perhaps the absence of mockery or malice—disarmed him slightly. He hesitated for a moment before offering a shy, tense smile, one that failed to completely erase his unease.

“Oh… I’m fine, thanks,” he murmured, his voice barely audible as his fingers fidgeted with the edge of the sheets like a lifeline.

That first encounter marked the beginning of an unusual friendship between Lestrange and Longbottom. Their moments together were small and almost insignificant: quick exchanges between classes, rushed chats while descending staircases, or brief conversations after dinner when the castle’s hallways were filled with echoes and shadows. Yet, these moments became something they both looked forward to, almost without realizing it.

In a matter of weeks, they had developed an improbable friendship, woven through laughter and fleeting comments. Until one day, everything changed.

That afternoon, before dinner, Neville and Morwenna were playing a game of Gobstones at the long Hufflepuff table. The table, situated next to a warm fireplace, seemed like the perfect spot for a friendly game, away from the cold that battered the castle. The pieces crackled slightly with every move, charged with that mischievous magic that made the game such an unpredictable experience.

“Ugh! How disgusting!” Neville exclaimed suddenly, jumping back when the characteristic foul-smelling liquid of the Gobstones splattered on his face. His expression was one of pure disgust as he hurriedly wiped his face with the sleeve of his sweater, wrinkling his nose as if he could banish the smell with a grimace.

In the distance, Harry and Ron were playing wizard’s chess, their shouts of frustration and bursts of laughter filling the air. Although the Great Hall was full of students, the atmosphere was more relaxed than noisy, with scattered laughter and quiet conversations filling the space.

“Why is it always me?” Neville muttered, looking at the pieces with a mix of resignation and frustration.

Morwenna couldn’t help it. The scene was too funny: Neville’s face covered in that disgusting liquid, his expression of absolute defeat… It was just too much for her. A burst of laughter escaped her lips, echoing through the hall and drawing a few curious glances. She leaned back, holding her stomach, her feet dangling from the large wooden bench. She almost fell to the floor, her uncontrollable laughter almost contagious.

Neville looked at her, half-indignant, half-amused, as he tried to regain some dignity. Despite the mess, he couldn’t help but smile a little. There was something refreshing about Morwenna’s carefree laughter, even if it was at his expense.

However, that peace and laughter didn’t last long. The harmony of the moment shattered when Draco Malfoy appeared on the scene, flanked as always by his inseparable cronies, Crabbe and Goyle. The gang moved through the hall with their usual arrogance, their mocking laughs ringing out as a nearby girl ran off, visibly affected by their cruel remarks.

Draco, with his swaggering walk and that smirk that irritated so many, headed straight toward where Neville and Morwenna were. Stopping in front of them, he raised an eyebrow with disdain.

“Huh, what’s a Lestrange like you doing associating with a coward like Longbottom?” he said, as if the idea was so ridiculous it barely warranted his attention.

Neville, who had been wiping his face from the remains of the Gobstones’ foul liquid, stopped dead. His expression immediately changed. The usual nervousness that defined him gave way to something completely different: anger. His hands trembled slightly as he turned his gaze to Morwenna, who was watching him in confusion.

“Lestrange?” Neville repeated, his voice trembling between disbelief and rage. “Is your mother Bellatrix Lestrange?”

The young girl, clearly startled, blinked rapidly. Hearing her mother’s name on Neville’s lips was not something she had expected, and a bad feeling crept over her. With an effort, she kept her tone neutral.

“Yes? Why? Do you know her?” she asked, curiosity in her voice, though there was a hint of unease as she set the Gobstones aside.

Neville stood up from his seat, his fists clenched. His expression, once warm and calm, was now filled with pain and fury.

“Your parents tortured mine!” he suddenly shouted, his voice cutting through the hall and silencing all conversations. Every eye turned toward them, the atmosphere instantly thick with tension.

Morwenna’s face changed. Neville’s words hit her like a misfired spell, leaving her momentarily frozen. But soon, her confusion gave way to indignation.

“What are you talking about!? My parents didn’t do that, you’re crazy!” she exclaimed, slamming both hands on the table as she stood up in front of him. Her voice, usually calm, now resonated with a mix of anger and confusion.

The atmosphere was unbearably tense. Draco, in the background, grinned maliciously, enjoying the spectacle he had caused. Harry and Ron had stopped their game of wizard’s chess to watch, and a few students whispered softly, unable to look away.

“You’re lying! My parents would never do something like that!” Morwenna yelled, pointing a finger at Neville as her eyes blazed with a mix of fury and confusion. Her voice rang out with an intensity that seemed to drown everything else, and more than one student in the hall jumped.

“I’m not lying!” Neville shot back, stepping toward her, his face flushed with anger. “Your parents, Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange, used the Cruciatus Curse on mine. They left them broken! There’s nothing you can say to change what they did!”

Morwenna took a step back, not out of fear, but because of the intensity of his emotions. She felt a mixture of disbelief and rage burning inside her, as if every word from Neville was a direct attack on her very identity. “My parents died fighting for what they believed was right!” she shouted, clenching her fists as her voice faltered for a moment before regaining its firm tone. “You have no right to blame me for things I don’t even know happened! It’s easy to talk about things you don’t understand, Longbottom!”

Neville frowned, his eyes filled with a sadness he couldn’t hide. “Right? That’s what they told you? That torturing innocent people is right? That explains why you’re on Malfoy’s side! You’re just like them!”

That comment was the final spark. Morwenna slammed both hands on the table, causing some Gobstones to roll off the edge. “Shut up!” she yelled with such force that the murmur of the hall vanished completely. Her eyes glinted with an intensity that many had seen before, but not in her — in the tales of Bellatrix Lestrange.

With one last frustrated snort, Morwenna grabbed her cloak and turned sharply. “I’m not staying here listening to your lies, Neville Longbottom!” she spat before storming off, her face flushed and her fists clenched.

Draco, who had been standing off to the side, enjoying the show, grinned widely, clearly satisfied. As he passed Neville, he tossed a sharp remark in a tone so loud that the entire hall heard it.

“Good job, Longbottom. Now you’re not just a coward, but an idiot too.”

With a cruel laugh, Draco followed his cousin down the corridor, signaling for Crabbe and Goyle to join him.

(Billy Hargrove x fem¡OCMayfield)

Samantha Danielle Mayfield finally decides to move to Hawkins with her sister and mother, as well as her mother's new husband and his arrogant son, William "Billy" Hargrove. What they are unaware of is that, gradually, these step-siblings will discover that the line between contempt and passion is more fragile than they supposed, and what begins as shared hostility turns into an intense and undeniable attraction that both find themselves unable to reject.

warnings: read at your own risk, as it includes a continuous sexual environment, profanity, mention of death and suicide, stepsibling relationship, sex, and all its derivatives.

words: 5k

autor's note: this work is entirely my own creation. that is to say, i have not based it on anyone else, so any resemblance to any other work is purely coincidental, as i have been using this format for all my stories since 2019. i hope you enjoy the story. if you find any translation errors, something you don't understand, or similar, please let me know :p

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Chapter four: Under the Boardwalk - The Drifters

Since that fateful 'incident' at Tina's party, where Billy's lips had met hers in an unexpected kiss, the days had passed with exasperating slowness. Every minute seemed to stretch like chewing gum, and every hour dragged on with unbearable heaviness.

The atmosphere in the house had become tense, almost suffocating. Every time she left her room, her heart pounded, fearing she might run into Billy, something that was inevitable after all. And as if the universe were mocking her, she always found him there, standing in front of the fridge, half-naked, looking for something to eat. His bare torso glistened with a thin layer of sweat, and she couldn't help but remember the feel of his lips against hers, recalling more and more details of that night.

The afternoons were even worse. Billy had the habit of exercising in the middle of the living room, just when she tried to enjoy her cool ice cream after work. She watched him there, with his shirt soaked in sweat, his muscles tensing with every movement. Each push-up, each sit-up, was a constant reminder of the kiss that had changed their entire ‘relationship’. If they hadn’t exchanged any words before, now even less.

She tried to focus on anything else: on the book she was reading, secretly listening in on Max's calls with his boyfriend, or maybe baking cookies. But nothing worked. Billy’s presence was like a magnet, drawing her gaze again and again. And every time their eyes met, an awkward silence settled between them, laden with unspoken words and repressed emotions.

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Billy couldn’t help it. Every time his stepsister was nearby, he felt an uncontrollable urge to get her attention. He didn’t understand why he did it; it was as if an invisible force was pushing him to act that way. Even though he hated to admit it, his behavior was completely involuntary, but that didn’t stop him.

Every morning, when he heard the faint creak of Sam’s bed and the soft sound of her footsteps as she got up, Billy hurried out of his room. Bare-chested and only in his boxers, he headed to the kitchen, pretending to look for something to eat. He knew that Sam only left her room to grab a snack, and he wanted to be there, in her way, so she would see him. His bare skin glistened under the yellow light of the fridge, and even though he wouldn’t admit it, he enjoyed the discomfort he caused Sam.

The afternoons were even more calculated. Billy delayed his workout sessions to coincide with the time Sam came back from work. He made sure to be in the living room, doing push-ups or lifting weights, just as she walked through the door. Sweat dripped down his forehead, and his shirt clung to his skin, but he didn’t care. He wanted Sam to see him; he wanted her to feel something, anything.

Despite his hatred for her, there was something about those moments that confused him. He wanted to insult her, provoke her, see her face flush with anger and return the insults. He wanted to see a range of emotions on her face, not just the embarrassment and anger that usually dominated their interactions. There was something addictive about those confrontations, something that kept him coming back for more.

The place had become a stage of constant tension. Every encounter, every glance, was charged with a palpable electricity. Billy didn’t know what was happening to him, but he couldn’t stop. He wanted more, needed more. And as the days passed, the line between hatred and something more grew increasingly blurred.

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Like any other afternoon after work, Sam locked herself in her room, seeking refuge from the stifling heat that invaded the house. The air conditioning was broken, and her Arcade uniform clung to her body, soaked with sweat. Her forehead glistened with tiny droplets that slowly trickled down, but that didn't stop her. She lay face down on the bed, her feet dancing in the air, trying to find some relief in the breeze coming through the slightly open window.

Despite the heat, Sam was engrossed in the magazine of handsome guys that Nancy had lent her. The pages, smooth to the touch, slid between her delicate fingers as she bit her lower lip with each turn. "Oh... Rob Lowe..." she murmured, whispering the actor's name with a mix of admiration and longing.

She was about to plant a kiss on the magazine page, lost in her fantasy, when the phone in her room began to ring. The sound startled her, abruptly pulling her out of her daydream. The magazine flew from her hands, landing somewhere unknown in the room. Grumbling at the interruption, Sam stretched out her arm to pick up the phone, her voice laden with reluctance. "Hello?" she said, in a tone that made it clear she would rather be anywhere else than answering that call.

A female voice resonated from the other end of the line, clear and familiar. "Sammy? It's Nic! Vicki and I wanted to apologize for running off the other day..." Nicol's voice was filled with sincerity and a touch of nervousness. They began to apologize, saying a thousand things until they got to the important part; "well, we'll tell you about that later... Oh! I almost forgot! Come with us to the pool this afternoon. Steve wants to know how you're doing and all that stuff. We'd go to his place, but the system is..." Blah Blah Blah. Sam rolled her eyes lazily, imagining the inevitable encounter with Billy if he was working. The idea of seeing him was not appealing at all. "It's just that... I have a stomach ache..." Sam excused herself, over and over, hoping that Nicol and Vicki would accept her excuse. But she knew her friends too well; they always had a solution for all her 'problems'.

"Come on, Sam, a bit of fresh air and water will do you good," insisted Nicol with her persuasive tone. Sam could almost see the smile on her friend's face, the one that always managed to convince her of everything. With a resigned sigh, Sam reluctantly agreed. "Alright, I'll go."

As she hung up the phone, Sam slowly got up from the bed, feeling her muscles protest at the effort. She headed to the bathroom, hoping that a quick shower would refresh her and prepare her for the afternoon at the pool. The cold water was a welcome relief, and for a moment, she could forget the heat and discomfort. After leaving the bathroom, she dressed in her swimsuit and a light t-shirt. She looked at her reflection in the mirror, noticing the tiny drops of water that still glistened on her skin. With one last sigh, she mentally prepared herself for the afternoon ahead, trying to ignore the feeling of unease that settled in her stomach.

The bus ride was short, but for Sam, it felt eternal.

As she got off the bus, Sam spotted her friends waiting for her at the entrance. Nicole and Vicki were there, along with a guy Sam recognized immediately. It was Steve, the same guy who had tried to help her that night she couldn't get out of her head. Steve was leaning against the door, wearing red swim trunks that reminded her of lifeguards, flip-flops, and black sunglasses that gave him a carefree and attractive look, just like his voluminous hair.

The girls ran towards Sam, hugging her enthusiastically and apologizing for what had happened last time. Their voices were a mix of joy and regret, and Sam couldn't help but smile at their effusiveness. Meanwhile, Steve remained at the door, watching the scene with a calm smile.

When she finally separated from her friends, Sam walked towards Steve. Her heart was pounding, and she felt a slight blush on her cheeks at the sight of the shirtless guy. Steve's fair skin glistened under the sun, and Sam noticed how his slight muscles tensed slightly as she approached. She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself, and mentally prepared to introduce herself properly.

"Hi, I'm Samantha," she said, extending her hand with a shy smile. Steve took off his sunglasses, revealing brown eyes that seemed to shine with their own light. He took Sam's hand firmly but gently and responded with a warm voice.

"Hi, Sam. I'm Steve. It's a pleasure to finally meet you by name and not just as Vicki's friend..." he joked. The touch of his hand was warm and comforting, and Sam felt a strange sense of calm as she shook it.

They walked along the edge of the pool, looking for a place to leave their things. The cement floor was hot under their feet, and the smell of chlorine filled the air. As they moved forward, Sam couldn’t help but feel a growing sense of unease. Her worry became reality when, upon looking up, her eyes met those of her stepbrother, Hargrove.

Billy was sitting in the high lifeguard chair, with a bored expression on his face. He was wearing the same red swim trunks as Steve, but on him, the outfit seemed more like a mockery than a safety measure. His skin was tanned by the sun, and sweat glistened on his forehead and chest, slowly trickling down his torso. Every movement he made seemed to accentuate his muscles, and Sam couldn’t help but notice how almost all the nearby girls looked at him with admiration.

Sam’s heart skipped a beat, and she felt a warmth rise to her cheeks, blushing instantly. She tried to look away, but it was as if her eyes were glued to Billy’s figure. He, realizing her presence, smirked and raised an eyebrow, as if enjoying her discomfort.

Sam swallowed hard and forced herself to look away, frowning and wondering why she had to look at him in the first place. She focused on finding a spot to leave their things. Her friends, oblivious to the tension she felt, continued chatting and laughing, unaware of the silent exchange between the two step-siblings. Finally, they found a spot near the shade of an umbrella, where they spread out their towels and prepared to enjoy the afternoon.

As she settled in, Sam couldn’t shake the feeling of Billy’s gaze on her. Every time she looked up, she saw him watching her from his chair, with that infuriating smile on his face.

After the awkward moment when Harrington applied sunscreen to Sam's back, everyone went into the water except for Vicki, who stayed on the edge, taking care of her newly dyed hair. The pool, in contrast to the scorching heat outside, was surprisingly cold, and Sam couldn't help but shiver slightly as she submerged. The cold water was a welcome relief at first, but it soon became uncomfortable. Sam swam a bit, trying to get used to the temperature, but the cold sensation persisted. As she moved, she began to feel a slight pain in her calf, a small pinch that quickly intensified. The pain became sharper with each movement, radiating from her calf to the rest of her leg.

Sam found herself in the middle of the pool, where the water was much deeper than she could handle. The sensation of floating or swimming became complicated, as each attempt to move only made the pain increase aggressively. Panic began to take hold of her. Her breathing became rapid and shallow, and her movements turned clumsy and desperate, causing her to start swallowing water little by little.

The atmosphere around the pool remained bustling and carefree. Children splashed and laughed, and adults chatted animatedly on the edge. No one seemed to notice Sam's silent struggle in the water, except for Billy, who thought she was joking. Sam was from California; how could she be drowning when she had swum in waves over 5 meters high (196,85 in). Her friends were distracted, chatting and laughing, unaware of her growing distress.

Sam tried to get someone's attention, but her voice was drowned out by the general noise. The pain in her calf was unbearable, and each attempt to move only worsened the situation. She felt the water enveloping her, cold and oppressive, and panic paralyzed her. In her desperation, her eyes searched for Steve, who was nearby, swimming with ease. She tried to shout his name, but her voice came out as a choked whisper. Desperation took hold of her, and for a moment, she thought she wouldn't be able to get out of that situation. Billy began to realize she was actually drowning, quickly descending the stairs and diving into the water.

Finally, Steve noticed her struggle. Their eyes met, and in an instant, he understood what was happening. With quick movements, he swam towards her, his face showing a mix of concern and determination. When he reached her, he took hold of her firmly, making sure she didn't sink. With his help, Sam managed to reach the edge, where she collapsed, exhausted and trembling.

In less than five seconds, Billy emerged from the water at the same spot where Sam had exited, his face a mask of contained fury. The sun shone intensely, reflecting off the droplets of water still sliding down his tanned skin. With a brusque gesture, he threw the small float he was carrying to the other end of the pool, causing a splash that caught the attention of some around him.

A few nearby girls couldn't help but comment on how handsome and athletic he was, whispering between giggles and furtive glances. But Billy paid no attention to the murmurs. His eyes were fixed on Steve, who was still beside Sam, helping her recover.

"What the hell are you doing?!" Billy shouted, his voice resonating with a mix of anger and frustration. With a light but firm push, he sent Steve crashing into a nearby lounger due to the force. The atmosphere, which had been filled with carefree laughter and conversations, immediately tensed. "You ain't no damn lifeguard, as far as I know. You ain't qualified to be doing this, Harrington.," Billy spat with disdain, his voice dripping with contempt. He ran a hand through his wet curls, slicking them back before turning his attention to Sam. "And you," he said, his tone arrogant and scornful. "You’re from California, right? How the hell are you drowning in a pool that’s not even two meters deep?" His eyes scanned his stepsister from head to toe, filled with disdain because Steve had helped her and not him, lingering on her chest.

Sam, still trembling from the fright and effort, felt the blush rise to her cheeks, this time not just from embarrassment but also from anger. The atmosphere around them seemed to have frozen, with everyone present watching the scene with a mix of curiosity and tension.

Billy, with an inscrutable expression on his face, approached his stepsister. Without saying a word, their eyes met for a brief moment, a silent exchange that spoke more than any phrase. With a decisive movement, he lifted her up, his fingers gripping firmly around her waist. She did not resist, but her gaze reflected a mix of surprise and curiosity. Billy's touch was firm and careless, as if he didn't mind hurting her. He hoisted her onto his shoulder with an ease that demonstrated his strength and began to walk towards the pool's reception area. Each step echoed on the tiled floor, the sound amplifying the tension in the air. A few onlookers watched in silence, their eyes fixed on them, wondering what would happen next.

The reception area, with its tiled walls and tropical plants, seemed like a world apart from the outside hustle and bustle. The soft light filtering through the windowless gaps created an almost magical atmosphere, contrasting with the tension of the moment. Billy advanced with determination, his steps firm and assured, while his stepsister clung to him, her leg still aching with each jarring step.

Finally, they reached the center of the reception area. Billy set her down roughly. The silence was broken by the soft whisper of Sam, who was complaining about the pain. With a frown and arms crossed, Sam watched Billy with a mix of frustration and curiosity. "What the fuck are you doing?" she asked angrily. Her eyes followed Billy's every move as he rummaged through some disordered cabinets, filled with objects piled up without any apparent order.

He settled positioned directly in front of his stepsister amidst the cluttered room. She looked bewildered, her large, round eyes fixed on Billy. With his face flushed from frustration and impatience, Billy shot her a severe look. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, with an expression that made it clear he would not tolerate any objections. His voice, harsh and tinged with disdain, cut through the dense air of the room. “Spread your legs and stretch the one that hurts,” he ordered, with an authority that seemed laden with repressed anger, his gaze scanning her body from top to bottom, leaving nothing unexamined. She blinked slowly, a hint of disbelief in her eyes as she tried to process what she had just heard. “Excuse me?” she asked, her voice trembling, betraying her uncertainty. Her fingers moved involuntarily over her leg, as if trying to massage away the cramp that had caught her by surprise. Her legs trembled slightly, a reflection of the tension she felt at that moment.

“Lift your damn leg, stupid,” he spat, his voice laden with aggression and a trace of contempt.

He leaned forward, his large, rough hands settling on the leg he thought was cramping. Without any preamble, he gripped it firmly, and the contact was immediate and painful. An involuntary moan escaped his stepsister’s lips, a mix of surprise and discomfort. Her muscles tensed, and her fingers gripped the edges of the chair, trying to contain the surge of pain. Billy’s hand pressure was relentless, a brutal reminder of the strength he wielded.

A barely perceptible malicious smile crept onto the rescuer’s face as he leaned forward. His low, rough chuckle filled the air when he noticed how his member moved involuntarily upon hearing the small noise Sam made while trying to stretch her leg. The sound, a blend of surprise and discomfort, was subtle but sexy enough to be noticeable, though not easily overlooked by him.

With a decisive movement, Billy pushed the chair forward with a metallic scrape that echoed through the room. The chair positioned itself almost within a hand’s width of Sam’s body, and Billy placed his foot firmly on his own shoulder. The contact made Sam tense up even more, her face flushing due to the double meaning of the scene, letting out another small moan as she tried to adjust to the new discomfort.

With a look of indifference in his eyes, Billy explained in a tone that left no room for misunderstanding. “You need to keep your leg elevated to make the cramp go away.” His voice was monotonous, devoid of any empathy. With one hand still on Sam’s foot, Billy took the small eucalyptus oil bottle. He opened it with his mouth, a gesture reflecting both his skill and disregard. The bottle made a slight click as it opened, and the penetrating aroma of the oil began to fill the air, mingling with the smell of dust and disinfectant that pervaded the room. He applied a small amount of oil to his hands, his rough, calloused skin brushing the liquid with a greasy texture that contrasted with the softness of his hands. He placed the bottle in a corner of the table, amidst piles of papers and scattered objects. Then, he started to rub the oil between his hands with quick, firm movements, spreading the liquid with an almost mechanical efficiency. The oil spread into a moist, slippery sheen, the sound of his rubbing being the only noise breaking the oppressive silence. It was the same, or similar, to when…

“Now don’t move, or your leg will hurt even more,” Billy warned with a firm voice, his blue eyes locked onto his stepsister’s. With determined movements, he began to massage the girl’s calf, his large, strong hands working with precision and without empathy, applying pressure from the very start. His thick thumbs pressed deeply into the flesh of her calf.

Immediately, Sam began to moan in response to the sharp pain caused by the massage. “Mmhm! Oh! Billy, it hurts, stop!” her voice was laden with anguish and desperation, a broken whisper slipping between each moan. Her head fell back in an involuntary attempt to escape the pain, but as soon as the impulse faded, she looked down again, her eyes fixed on the action of his thumbs. Each movement felt like a painful pinch, a direct assault on her already tense muscles. The pain wasn’t just physical; it was an overwhelming experience that resonated through every fiber of her being. Sam bit her lower lip so hard that her skin paled under the pressure. Her eyes, reflecting discomfort and desperation, turned towards the ceiling, showing only the whites of her eyes as she tried to endure the pain. “Ah!”

Desperate for some comfort, Sam reached out and her nails dug into Billy’s thigh. The contact of her nails on his skin was like a cry for help, a yearning for support amid her suffering. Her fingers, gripping the fabric of Billy’s damp swimsuit, sought some kind of anchor in the firmness of his body. The pressure of her nails in Billy’s flesh was felt, a small but significant act of resistance and need.

From the moment Billy started applying the oil to his hands, a wave of excitement began to take hold of him. The slick texture of the oil contrasted sharply with the roughness of his hands, and the penetrating aroma filled his senses, creating an intense sensory experience. Each movement of his thumbs on Sam’s tense flesh was not merely a technique to relieve the cramp but an act that deeply aroused him. Sam’s moans, interspersed with her pleas, created a melody that Billy found increasingly pleasurable. As the pressure of his hands grew firmer, Billy couldn’t help but revel in the effect he was having on Sam. Her pain, which seemed palpable and resonant in her moans, mingled with a sense of power that Billy found irresistibly stimulating. Each time his thumbs pressed deeper, the sound of her suffering seemed to amplify his own arousal.

The combination of the oil, the texture of her skin beneath his hands, and Sam’s moans left Billy feeling intoxicated, almost dizzy from the intensity of the moment. His blood seemed to rush to his hard erection, creating a sensation of pressure and desire that consumed him. As his thumbs worked firmly on Sam’s tense muscles, he leaned slightly forward, his breathing growing heavier and his body filled with an arousal that was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore.

At one point, Billy moved so close to Sam that the edge of his erection brushed lightly against the inside of her thigh. The contact was barely perceptible to her, a subtle sensation lost in the sea of stimuli surrounding her. Sam was so absorbed in her own world that she didn’t notice the contact.

It was only when Sam, in an attempt to partially escape her pain, opened her eyes and encountered an unexpected sight that the reality of the situation began to take shape. She looked up and saw Billy, his lips pressed into a grimace of contained excitement. His expression was a reflection of overwhelming, palpable desire, a mix of pleasure and concentration he could not hide. Each time Billy moved his hips into the air, his face displayed a trace of frustration and longing, searching involuntarily for friction and contact with something, without fully understanding what was happening.

He moved subtly, his hips rising and shifting in an involuntary gesture that revealed the growing desire he could not suppress. Each movement was charged with a desperate need for relief, an unconscious attempt to find something that could provide the friction he craved.

Eyes fixed on the scene, Sam couldn’t help but feel a mix of surprise and a strange warmth. Billy’s evident desire was something she hadn’t anticipated, and the connection between her pain and his arousal created a strange and unsettling situation. Each of Billy’s breaths, each involuntary movement of his hips, intensified the charged atmosphere and the awkward reality of their closeness.

Without a second thought, Billy lunged at her with an almost frantic intensity. His movements were quick and clumsy, desperation guiding each action. With a sudden thrust, he pushed Sam backward, the chair wobbling and nearly toppling over. His body slid over hers, their lips meeting in a desperate, demanding kiss. The contact was as violent as it was unexpected, and the friction of their bodies ignited an instant spark of desire.

She, still with her leg resting on Billy’s shoulder, was in a completely exposed position. The pressure of her leg against his body, combined with the near-collapse of the chair, left her fully open to him. Billy’s erection, hot and throbbing but encased in his damp swimsuit, pressed against the tight fabric of Sam’s bikini. The fit was so precise it felt like a perfect match, the material of Billy’s swimsuit brushing against the snug bikini, creating a blend of pleasure and pain.

The moan that escaped her lips was a mixture of pain and surprise. The cramp she had been feeling earlier now merged with a new wave of intensity, heightened by the unexpected contact. The heat and pressure of Billy’s erection were overwhelming, and the pain of the cramp faded in the face of the growing arousal.

Billy moved with unchecked energy, his hands searching for support on the wobbly chair as he tried to adjust his position. Each of his movements was a desperate quest for friction and contact, his hips thrusting against Sam’s bikini in an instinctive rhythm. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his breathing grew heavy and ragged, desire and pain blending into an uncontrollable sensation.

Dazed and caught in a whirlwind of pain, excitement, and confusion, Sam didn’t know how to react. The weight of Billy on top of her and the intimate contact were overwhelming, and the unexpected surge of passion left her paralyzed. Her thoughts were tangled in the chaos of the situation, the intensity of the moment enveloping her in a tide of contradictory emotions.

A few seconds after the violent and desperate contact, Sam, caught in a whirlwind of sensations and emotions, gave in to the surge of passion Billy had unleashed. Her body, now more attuned to the intimacy of the moment, began to respond to his persistent touches. With a desperation that mirrored the internal chaos she was experiencing, Sam tangled her fingers in Billy’s golden curls, gripping him with an unexpected strength. Each strand of his hair in her hands felt like an anchor amid the emotional storm.

As her fingers buried themselves in Billy’s hair, Sam dragged her free leg over his waist, seeking more friction. The brush of her skin against Billy’s body intensified the heat that was already consuming her. The fabric of Sam’s bikini, now soaked, clung to her intimacy, making the contact even more intense and burning. The combination of the damp material and the constant pressure created an almost searing sensation, fueling the arousal that seemed to flow between them.

However, amid the frenzy, a sliver of awareness returned to Sam. When Billy, with palpable urgency, attempted to untie the top of her bikini, the gesture shook the fragile equilibrium of her mind. Suddenly alert to the invasion of her personal space, Sam pushed Billy away with a force that reflected her confusion and growing anger. The strength of her push caused Billy to pull back slightly, allowing Sam to regain some control over the situation.

The friction and tumult had dragged Sam’s bikini aside, exposing her completely soaked intimacy. The sight, in a moment of sharp clarity, revealed the vulnerability that had been hidden until that point. Billy, stunned by the unexpected revelation, stared intently, his eyes showing a mix of confusion and excitement.

(Billy Hargrove x fem¡OCMayfield)

Samantha Danielle Mayfield finally decides to move to Hawkins with her sister and mother, as well as her mother's new husband and his arrogant son, William "Billy" Hargrove. What they are unaware of is that, gradually, these step-siblings will discover that the line between contempt and passion is more fragile than they supposed, and what begins as shared hostility turns into an intense and undeniable attraction that both find themselves unable to reject.

warnings: read at your own risk, as it includes a continuous sexual environment, profanity, mention of death and suicide, stepsibling relationship, sex, and all its derivatives.

words: 3,6k

autor's note: this work is entirely my own creation. that is to say, i have not based it on anyone else, so any resemblance to any other work is purely coincidental, as i have been using this format for all my stories since 2019. i hope you enjoy the story. if you find any translation errors, something you don't understand, or similar, please let me know :p

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Chapter three: I Will Survive - Gloria Gaynor

Sam, noticeably affected by beer and other drinks, was enjoying the party to an extraordinary degree. She had run into some classmates and shared laughs and drinks with them until private matters forced them to retire. Thus, the small group settled in a corner near a window, since Tina had forbidden them to smoke inside, but Vicki resisted going outside to light her cigarette, choosing to keep the arm holding her cigarette outside while her body remained inside.

Minutes later, Sam began to attract the attention of a stranger. Her black miniskirt and asymmetrical top with leopard print drove him crazy, not to mention her provocatively exposed bare shoulders, as well as her slightly teased hair that invited the imagination to discover that she was wearing nothing but the top at that moment. Sam's movements were deliberately slow, as she made fun of the melody and the way other teenage girls danced, but it was clear that she enjoyed dancing in that way.

She was startled when an unknown man approached her unexpectedly. At first, she thought it would just be a casual encounter and decided to go along with it. However, that was not her biggest problem at that moment; alcohol had flooded her senses with euphoria, driving her to dance to the rhythm of the music alongside him. Tension took over the scene when she felt the man firmly grasp her waist, adhering his torso and hips against her back and behind in a way that was too brazen. She felt the insinuating touch of a prominent bulge against her lower back, and uncertainty took over her thoughts. She was about to turn around and punch him, but as she grabbed his arm to push him away, an unexpected sensation stopped her. She perceived the attractive firmness of a toned and robust arm that held her with unbreakable security. His skin was surprisingly soft, contrasting with the roughness of his grip. Although the smell of tobacco impregnated the air, it mingled with the notes of an intensely seductive perfume that, for some reason, seemed quite familiar to her.

They continued dancing for a few more moments, now with a growing shared pleasure. The dance was interrupted by an unexpected, but secretly desired, turn that culminated in their lips meeting in a passionate kiss. This kiss, born of an aggressive impulse, quickly turned into a wild act of desire. From the moment their mouths came together, they played their own dance, intertwining tongues and mixing flavors of different alcohols in an intimate exchange of saliva.

After exchanging some passionate kisses, they decided to separate to catch their breath and finally discover the identity of the attractive stranger. However, she was petrified as she recognized him as her detestable stepbrother, Billy, whose face reflected a just as stunned expression as hers.

"Sam?!" exclaimed Billy, his voice sounding slightly high, a side effect of the drinks he had consumed.

With an impulse born of frustration, Samantha pushed Billy, although her effort barely moved him due to the notable difference in weight and strength between them. Her words were stuttered, loaded with anger.

"What the hell is wrong with you? Weren't you supposed to be out? Why did you kiss me?" she exclaimed, stumbling over some words due to the alcohol, swaying back and forth, visibly affected by the situation.

"What are you saying? I didn't do anything, it's your fault!" replied Billy, stretching out the words in a similar way, accusing his stepsister with his index finger, his eyelids fighting against drowsiness.

Sam was about to explode again, but a sudden, piercing sensation in her stomach stopped her. Something she had ingested earlier was causing her unbearable discomfort, and the urge to vomit obliged her to turn quickly. She pushed Vicki out of the way with a shove, moving away from the window, and at that moment, her cigarette slipped from her fingers, falling onto the terrace. It was there that Sam's vomit began to spill out, extinguishing the cigarette ember. With her torso hanging out the window, her hips remained inside the room, and due to the position she adopted, her underwear was visible through the miniskirt. This caught the attention of some nearby young people, who wasted no time in hurling derogatory comments at her. Her friends, outraged by the situation, hurried to her side, making sure she wouldn't fall and confronting the boys with shouts to stay away.

“Dayum, what a hot ass! I’d bang her until she couldn’t walk!” an inappropriate comment was pronounced by one of the boys present, triggering laughter among his companions. However, to Billy's unfortunate drunkenness, his words provoked a deep discontent. With a sharp movement, he turned to the troublemaker and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, pulling him towards him firmly.

“Say that again about my sister and you’re gonna be the one who can’t walk, ‘cause I’ll beat the hell outta you!” he threatened firmly, initially causing fear in the boy, but then invaded by laughter.

“Sister? You were about to smash her right here, dude! Don’t tell me you’re one of those bros who hooks up with their own. What, you into incest or what?” the boy asked again, teasing, which unleashed Billy's absolute anger. Without hesitation, he landed such a powerful punch that the idiot's mouth began bleeding immediately as he broke a tooth, knocking him down on the floor where he lamented the pain of hitting the sharp edge of Tina's kitchen table. With a precise blow, Billy delivered a kick to the same place where the table had impacted, intensifying the youth’s suffering.

Taking the boy by his shirt again, Billy brought him towards him with determination. "Look at you, you're just a faggot," he whispered disdainfully, before throwing him to the ground again, where he lay writhing in pain.

Upon turning to the window, Billy noticed that the girls were no longer present, deciding it was time to return home. It had been a day full of incidents and it was time to rest. However, he ignored that Sam had fallen from the same window, dirtying her clothes with dirt and her own vomit. Fortunately, the fall had been from a height lower than a meter, allowing her friends to come out without any problems to help her.

"Damn, Sam!" exclaimed Vicki, abandoning her drink somewhere unknown, rushing towards the brunette, who struggled to get through the window, hindered by her pointed high heels. Nicole followed the redhead, who initially frowned at seeing Sam covered in vomit and in a deplorable state, but then moved cautiously to avoid getting dirty, though in vain, as she slipped and fell on her butt too.

"Shit!" lamented Nicole, lying on the ground, with her right wrist stained by the liquid. Moments later, she struggled to stand up, while Vicki, with a cigarette between her lips, tried to lift Sam.

"Come on, Sammy..." encouraged the redhead, struggling to lift the noticeably intoxicated young woman.

A loud noise caught the attention of the conscious girls, who looked towards the interior of the house, where police chief Hopper and his escorts were shouting about incarcerations and bad behavior. Everyone inside began to flee and scream, causing the officers to pursue them.

"Fuck, fuck, Sam!" exclaimed Nicole, frightened, now using all her strength to lift her, but causing her to fall on the grass of the small terrace, just like Vicki.

The three of them lay on the ground, without help, exposed to being discovered by the police and taken to the station, which would entail severe punishment from their parents, as supposedly Vicki was sleeping at Nicole's house, Nicole at Vicki's and Sam was "sleeping" at her home.

"Hey, you three!" a male voice from behind startled them. The tension of the redheads dropped instantly. "What are you doing on the ground? The police are inside" he said, approaching even closer, revealing his face thanks to the dim light emanating from the house.

"Steve?" the two girls wondered, surprised. Sam remained unconscious.

He nodded. It had been a long time since they had spoken, precisely since the incident with Tommy.

"It seems you need help with... your friend..." he commented, pointing to Sam with a gesture of disgust for the state of her clothes and person. Nicole and Vicki nodded, while the latter extinguished her cigarette against the wooden wall.

Steve helped Vicki and Nicole to stand up, who thanked him, feeling somewhat ashamed for having ignored him for so long.

"Hey, you four!" Hopper's voice rang out from the corner, beginning to run towards the group.

The girls, frightened, ran in the opposite direction, leaving their vulnerable friend with Steve, thinking only of themselves at that moment.

"Hey! Where are you going?" Steve shouted, not knowing what to do. He only acted out of instinct. He lifted Sam in his arms and placed her on his shoulder, fleeing the place, taking her to where he had parked his car and depositing her in the back seat, observing the mess she caused on his precious seats.

On the ground lay the young woman, in a supine position, with barely covered chest, her thighs, knees, and legs stained with dried vomit and dirt. One heel was missing from her foot, while her skirt was raised, shamelessly exposing her crotch and underwear. Her face did not escape misery; the smeared eyeliner and chin splattered with vomit attested to her sorry state.

Hesitantly, Steve took Sam's skirt carefully, using his fingers in a clamp to lower it gently, trying not to disturb her. Next, he shook her gently, in an attempt to revive her.

"Mmmhmmm..." groaned the young woman, turning her head to one side, evading the reality that suffocated her.

"Hey... Vicki's friend, it's important that you tell me your address..." The response did not come; only incoherent murmurs filled the air. "Please collaborate with me, let me help you..." begged Steve desperately, shaking the girl with more impetus, who was slowly emerging to consciousness. She confusedly observed her life with her surroundings, not recognizing her location, only perceiving the figure of a young man in front of her and her own vulnerability, evidenced by her disorderly and almost non-existent clothing. Instinctively, she kicked him, knocking him to the ground, and took the opportunity to get out of the vehicle. She ran to the nearest bus stop, where she examined the map to orient herself, and began the journey home under the cover of the night. Her mind was a void, and her body, a compendium of ailments. She felt devastated.

After half an hour of limping, diminished by the absence of a heel, she propelled herself through the window. She did not reach the bed; instead, she collapsed onto the soft, white carpet, which took on a greyish hue under her weight.

The moment her face touched the ground, and although the world was spinning in a whirlwind around her, she managed to sink into a deep and restorative sleep.

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The dawn light timidly filtered through the blinds, casting parallel lines on Sam's inert figure sprawled on the floor. The previous night had been a whirlwind that had dragged her away from reality and now returned her to its harsh everydayness.

The knock on the door resonated like thunder in the room. Sam, still lying on the floor, jolted. Her head throbbed, and the daylight seeping through the blinds only worsened her discomfort. She couldn't let them see her like this, with swollen eyes and a dry mouth from the hangover.

"Sam!" Her stepfather's deep voice was a desperate shout. "Samantha!" he insisted, this time with a touch of annoyance. The urgency in his words brooked no delay. He had received a call from work and needed to leave, but Billy wasn't home. Sam had to take the responsibility of going to work and taking Max, as she couldn't be left alone if Billy wasn't there.

Sam leaned on the bed, trying to get up. Every step was a challenge, and the world seemed to spin around her. The door continued to receive knocks, and her stepfather's voice filtered through like a distant echo. "Sam!" he shouted again. "Open the door!"

With superhuman effort, Sam made it to the door. The wood groaned under her fingers as she opened it. Neil was there, with a worried look and furrowed brow. "What happened last night, Sam? Weren't you here sleeping?" he asked, more concerned than reprimanding. "It's not the time for this."

Sam nodded, unable to articulate a word, putting her index finger to her lips to indicate he shouldn't make noise, looking at him annoyed. With a slow movement, she closed the door in his face and continued her way to the bathroom. The floor was cold under her bare feet as she slowly stripped off her clothes. Each garment seemed a reminder of the previous night, a blurry mix of fun and excesses, which she couldn't clearly remember. With each step, the feeling of reluctance increased, but she knew a cold shower was her best option.

Finally naked, she opened the bathroom door and let the water envelop her. She closed her eyes, letting the revitalizing sensation wash over her. The hangover was still present, but every cold drop of water seemed to take a bit of discomfort away. Under the shower stream, the dried makeup on Sam's face began to dissolve, revealing the pale and tired skin underneath. With each water drop that fell, traces of eyeliner and lipstick faded, leaving her face clean and fresh once more. The remnants of dried vomit on her knees and chin were also washed away. The feeling of relief was palpable as she felt the dirt and discomfort of the past fade away with each second under the shower. For a moment, she allowed herself to feel renewed.

Sam stepped out of the shower; the cold water had been a necessary shock, a kind of reset for her body still trembling from the excesses of the previous night. The hangover had dissipated like mist at dawn, and she felt almost light. She wrapped herself in a white towel, letting her hair loose, water droplets still clinging to the ends, determined to let the warmth of the day do its job and dry it naturally.

She walked to her room, her feet leaving wet prints on the wooden floor. The air was filled with the scent of freshly brewed coffee and toasted bread, promising signs of a breakfast that could fully bring her back to the world of the living, courtesy of her mother, before she left. But before she could take another step, a blurry figure passed by her like a flash.

Sam stopped her sister with a hand on her shoulder and asked, with a mix of curiosity and concern, where she was rushing off to. Her sister, turning on her heels with a radiant smile, explained that today marked the beginning of summer and that the municipal pool was finally opening its doors. She had heard it was a kind of tradition among the neighborhood youth to gather there on the first day, and she didn't want to miss the opportunity to dive into the refreshing waters with her friends.

Sam furrowed her brow, debating internally. She knew it was her responsibility to take Max to work, where she could play with the machines, just like with her friends, and was supervised by her older sister. However, the idea of depriving her of a day of joy and fun weighed heavily on her heart. After a moment of reflection, Sam nodded with a resigned smile and told her to enjoy the day. She reminded her that she should be careful and that they would meet later at home.

"Stop by the pool after work. The guys and I will be there until late, and I'm sure it will be fun. Plus, then we'll come back together, right?" Sam thanked her for the invitation, but her mind was filled with doubts.

“Should I really join them after work? Or would it be better to go straight home and wait there for Max? After all, I would be surrounded by kids.”

Sam's indecision was interrupted by the sound of laughter and chatter fading away. Her sister was already on her way to the pool with her friends, who were waiting for her at the door, unaware of the little crisis she had left behind. Sam sighed, went to get dressed, packed an old bikini in her bag, and took the nearest bus to the arcade, with the image of the pool shining under the summer sun still lingering in her mind.

Keith couldn't help but smile when he saw Sam walk through the arcade door. Despite her joy, a shadow of irritation crossed his face as he remembered that Sam was an hour late to work. "Late again, Sam?" he asked in a tone that tried to be light but hinted at his frustration, licking his orange-stained fingers.

Sam, while pulling her hair up into a messy bun due to the heat, shrugged and said with a guilty smile, "Sorry, Keith. The party last night went on longer than expected."

The guy, with an indulgent smile, watched Sam nodding. It was evident that the previous night had been long and full of excesses for her. Despite her tired appearance and the dark circles under her eyes, Sam maintained an air of enthusiasm that seemed unbreakable.

The arcade buzzed with its usual energy, a neon and nostalgia sanctuary where childhood memories came to life to the rhythm of electronic melodies. The arcade machines, lined up like colorful soldiers, buzzed and blinked, calling players to lose themselves in their pixelated worlds. The smell of pizza and soda mixed with the sweet scent of chewed gum, and the air vibrated with the excitement of winning games and high scores celebrated with exclamations and laughter.

As the day faded and the sunset began to tint the sky with warm tones, Sam felt boredom creeping in. The hours dragged on, and every tick of the clock seemed to mock her restlessness. It was then that the earlier idea of the pool surfaced in her mind like an oasis in the middle of a desert of monotony.

With a thoughtful look, Sam weighed the decision before approaching Keith. Her expression was that of a child who knows she's about to break a rule but also knows she has all the cards. "Keith, would you mind if I left a little early today?" she asked in a honeyed voice. Keith, would you mind if I sneak out a little early today?” Sam asked in a sugary voice. “Max needs me at the pool, and I don’t want to leave her alone…”

Keith, having fallen for that angelic face before, couldn’t help but give in to Sam’s request. “Alright, but only because it’s you,” he said with mock seriousness.

After a hurried hug and a “Thanks, you’re the best!” echoing in the room, Sam dashed towards the door with her backpack slung over her shoulder. But before she could disappear into the evening, she came to a sudden stop in front of a phone booth. With quick and precise movements, she pulled out a worn-out notebook from her backpack, its pages filled with numbers and names. Her fingers scrolled until they found Nancy Wheeler’s, and she dialed the number with a mix of anxiety and anticipation.

“Nancy? It’s me, Sam. How about we take a dip in the pool? I feel like unwinding after a stressful day at work. It’ll do you good too, trust me,” she said with a voice dripping with adventure and a hint of conspiracy.

Nancy, with the phone pressed to her ear, felt torn. The interview with The Hawkins Post had been a disaster, and her spirits were low. “I don’t know, Sammy… I’m not in the mood,” she began, but was interrupted by her mother’s voice echoing from the kitchen phone.

“Oh, I’ll come with you, girls! The book club is also planning to go to the pool this afternoon, so I can give you a ride,” her mother announced enthusiastically.

Nancy frowned, annoyed by the intrusion, but the idea of spending time away from home and away from the memories of the interview began to seem appealing. “Alright, mom, see you at the station in 20 minutes, Sam,” she responded resignedly before hanging up.

She hurried to her room, where she put on her bikini mechanically, still processing the turn the afternoon had taken. As she looked at herself in the mirror, a part of her felt grateful for the unexpected distraction.

In the car, the atmosphere was different. Laughter and conversation filled the space, and Nancy found herself swept along by the stream of chatter. Sam, with her usual enthusiasm, recounted the blurry events of the previous night’s party.

“And then, this guy, Steve, showed up, and… well, he was really nice, even though I don’t think I treated him very well…” Sam said, with a sparkle in her eyes that Nancy couldn’t ignore.

“Steve? Steve who?” Nancy asked, surprised and curious at the same time.

Sam thought for a moment, trying to remember. “I’m not sure… I don’t think he ever told me his last name,” she admitted with a giggle, downplaying it, but Nancy’s face was a picture.

The conversation quickly flowed to other topics, but Nancy couldn’t help but think about this guy Steve. Could it be… Steve Harrington? The idea seemed absurd, since she hadn’t been to any parties since they broke up and didn’t socialize with anyone, but something about the way Sam described him made her wonder if fate wasn’t playing its cards in an unexpected way.

Nancy was annoyed to think that Steve was so happy after the breakup, not considering that she was already, again, in a relationship.

Arriving at the pool was a relief for everyone. The coolness of the water promised to be the perfect antidote to the summer heat and the worries each one carried.

The girls watched Karen walk away towards a group of well-dressed ladies with extravagant swimsuits, with a mixture of relief and excitement. Seizing the opportunity, Nancy headed towards the lounge chair area, looking for a quiet place to relax with a good book, saving a spot for her friend. Meanwhile, Sam made her way to the changing rooms, eager to enjoy the day at the pool with that bikini she wore so often in California. However, her inexperience led her to take a wrong turn, and soon she found herself lost among the facilities.

Determined not to be defeated by the confusion, she approached a guy who seemed to know the place. With a nervous smile, she asked him for help finding the changing rooms. The guy, kindly, guided her through the corridors to what he thought was the visitors’ changing room. Grateful, Sam hurriedly entered, unaware that she had barged into the staff changing room.

The muffled sound of her footsteps echoed in the changing room as Sam entered, immediately noticing the strange calmness that contrasted with the lively bustle of the pool. However, instead of stopping to ponder it, she went ahead with her usual routine. The changing room, with its polished wooden benches and rows of metal lockers, seemed enveloped in an almost unreal atmosphere of tranquility.

After making sure no one else was present, Sam began to undress with slow and precise movements. Each garment that slid off her body revealed her skin vaguely bronzed from past months. As she removed her clothes, her mind wandered in a sea of ​​confusing memories. She tried to recall the events of the previous night, but the images faded like smoke between her fingers. Only the intoxicating sensation of a man’s lips kissing her skillfully remained, an experience that left a mark on her memory even though she couldn’t remember who he was.

After putting on the bottom part of the bikini, Sam took off the shirt she was wearing, revealing the outline of her figure sculpted by good genetics. With a sigh, she unhooked her bra and let it fall to the ground, now only clad in the minimal fabric covering her hips. As she rummaged through her backpack for the bikini top, a sudden noise echoed at the door, startling her out of her thoughts. Initially, Sam didn’t pay much attention, reminding herself that she was in a public changing room and that privacy was relative in such spaces. However, her tranquility was interrupted by the hoarse and annoyed voice that filtered through the door. “Those damn kids again…” the intruder’s words made her frown, but she decided to ignore it and focus on her task, thinking he would go to the other changing room. However, as the voice approached closer and closer, Sam tensed up, and her heart began to beat hard in her chest. “Hey, I’ve told you three times already that you can’t come in…” the voice echoed closer, and before she could react, the door burst open abruptly.

Her eyes widened as she saw him enter so suddenly, causing a startle in both her and him. The guy in question turned out to be Billy, his tanned skin standing out even more thanks to the vibrant red color of his swimsuit. Sweat droplets lightly adorned his hair, making it shine under the dim light of the changing room as it gracefully fell onto his neck. Additionally, hanging from it was a whistle, reminiscent of a lifeguard.

Billy’s gaze met Sam’s, and at that moment he remembered what had happened the night before, leaving him speechless. He had never felt so nervous around a woman before, let alone in such a compromising situation as this. Sam’s presence, semi-naked and covering herself with her arms, only intensified his confusion and nervousness. His mind went blank, unable to articulate a single word as he struggled to find an excuse or explanation that could break the awkward silence that had settled between them.

“You can’t be here,” Sam frowned at Billy’s words, whispered nervously. The oddity of the situation became even more intense when he lowered his gaze, unable to hold eye contact. For Sam, it wasn’t the first time she had seen him in a similar situation, but this time his reaction was noticeably strange. Questions arose in her mind, wondering why he was there, dressed like that, and what led him to enter the women’s changing room, showing obvious nervousness. However, Sam wasn’t willing to leave the changing room. She shook her head defiantly and decided to kick Billy out. “I’m changing, do you mind?” Sam asked with a hint of mockery, as they often did.

Turning her back to Billy, Sam tried to put on the bikini top without revealing more than necessary, but she encountered a problem when trying to tie the strings, prompting her to ask Billy for help with complete naturalness.

Billy felt uncomfortable with the situation, clearly remembering what had happened the night before. He tried to persuade Sam to leave, but she remained stubborn in her position. “I’ll leave as soon as you help me tie the bikini, idiot,” she responded, frustrated by the delay.

Finally, Billy slowly approached Sam, which annoyed her even more, demanding that he hurry up. However, he complied and positioned himself right behind her, feeling the electricity between them as his fingers gently brushed against Sam’s nape. From his angle, Billy could subtly glimpse Sam’s nipples, which made him feel dizzy, noticing how all his blood rushed to his groin.

With an annoyed tone, Billy asked how she could act so normally after what happened the night before, but he continued tying the bikini without interrupting the process.

Sam was about to ask what he meant by that, but as soon as she felt an unexpected bulge on her lower back, she quickly turned around, surprised, to check what had touched her body. The lack of closure on the bikini caused her round and juicy breasts to be exposed to Billy’s gaze, causing an even more intense blush on Sam’s face and a growing discomfort in Billy. He had never felt so inferior in the presence of a woman.

“Why are you ignoring the fact that you threw yourself at me like a bitch in heat last night?” Billy asked somewhat boldly, causing memories of the previous night to start to clarify in Sam’s mind, increasing her embarrassment and confusion.

“You were that guy?!” Sam shouted, not knowing how to react to the revelation. Thoughts swirled around her head aimlessly.

Finally, she decided to throw a soap that she found nearby, hastily covering her breasts with the untied bikini and her backpack, and tried to leave the changing room as quickly as possible, trying to ignore her stepbrother’s evident bulge in his red swimsuit. The tension in the air was palpable as both tried to process what had happened and find a way out of the uncomfortable situation they found themselves in.

Billy grabbed his stepsister’s arm roughly, preventing her from passing and causing her belongings to fall to the ground with a dull thud, leaving her once again semi-naked and vulnerable. Sam, infuriated by the situation, tried to slap Billy, but he reacted quickly by grabbing her arm and pinning her against nearby lockers. The force with which Billy slammed her against them was enough to leave her slightly dazed, making her look into his eyes as he held her firmly. “Let go of me, idiot! You’re a pervert!” Sam yelled, feeling Billy’s bulge against her, which led her to instinctively cover his mouth to contain any further screams.

The situation became even more uncomfortable when Billy and Sam’s bodies found themselves in a strange and compromising pose. Sam’s erect nipples rubbed against Billy’s toned chest due to the coldness of the lockers, while he immobilized her by placing his leg between hers, causing inevitable contact between their groins. With one hand over her mouth and the other holding her against the lockers, Billy had complete control over her, and Sam struggled to free herself without success, feeling a mixture of fear, confusion, and a strange excitement she had never experienced before, especially with her stepbrother.

“You should know you’re a slut,” Billy whispered angrily, which had a strange effect on Sam. Her body heated up instantly, and she felt moisture between her legs that had nothing to do with the pool water. Billy’s body heat clashed with hers, causing her to wriggle under his grip, unable to control her own reactions.

“You’re not going to tell anyone what happened, understand?” Billy continued, still angry but clearly aroused, as evidenced by his palpable erection. “Otherwise, I’ll make you suffer severe pain, I’m just warning you, bitch,” he added, abruptly releasing Sam and causing her to crash forcefully against the lockers, now fully exposed with her chest still without the bikini.

(Billy Hargrove x fem¡OCMayfield)

Samantha Danielle Mayfield finally decides to move to Hawkins with her sister and mother, as well as her mother's new husband and his arrogant son, William "Billy" Hargrove. What they are unaware of is that, gradually, these step-siblings will discover that the line between contempt and passion is more fragile than they supposed, and what begins as shared hostility turns into an intense and undeniable attraction that both find themselves unable to reject.

warnings: read at your own risk, as it includes a continuous sexual environment, profanity, mention of death and suicide, stepsibling relationship, sex, and all its derivatives.

words: 3,2k +

autor’s note: this work is entirely my own creation. that is to say, i have not based it on anyone else, so any resemblance to any other work is purely coincidental, as i have been using this format for all my stories since 2019. i hope you enjoy the story. if you find any translation errors, something you don't understand, or similar, please let me know :p

prev chapter masterlist next chapter

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Chapter two: Renegade - Styx

The air is filled with the smell of freshly made popcorn and various candies, along with the sound of metal coins clashing against each other. Kids and teenagers crowd around the machines, their eyes reflecting the neon lights that blink to the rhythm of the games. Laughter and exclamations mix with the click-clack of buttons and the occasional frustrated hit against the machines. In one corner, a group of friends take turns on Pac-Man, competing for the highest score, while in another, a teenager leans intensely over the Street Fighter joystick, his fingers moving with a skill that only years of practice can grant. Occasionally, a cry of victory cuts through the constant noise when someone achieves a new record.

The background music, a soft blend of synthesizers and rock rhythms, adds to the atmosphere of another time, another world, where the only concern is whether you have enough coins for one more game. And while outside the sky darkens and the rain falls, inside the arcade, each game is a promise of adventure, each score a potential legend.

Behind the counter, Sam casually leans against the cash register. Between her fingers, a bright orange cheeto, which she brings to her lips with a carefree smile. Beside her, Keith laughs at a joke shared in a low voice.

Both observe the controlled chaos of the arcade, exchanging comments and laughter about the oddities of the regular players. The conversation flows easily, jumping from the latest high scores to plans for after closing. The crunch of the cheetos mixes with the sound of the machines, creating a unique soundtrack for their camaraderie.

Meanwhile, the clock slowly ticks towards closing time, but there is no rush. There is a comfort in routine, a familiar rhythm in the waiting, and in the anticipation of the tranquility that will follow once the lights go out and the machines fall silent.

"Did you say like flan?" he inquired, almost choking on the cheeto he had just devoured, coughing hard as a laugh escaped between paroxysms. Sam nodded affirmatively, taking another cheeto from the bag resting on Keith's right hand.

The girl was comfortably settled on the counter, with her back to the crowd, while Keith, perched on his chair, made sure that no one was using the new trick of the coin tied to a string, while chatting with his dear friend and coworker.

"Hey, Keith," a boy called out, followed by others behind the counter. Sam's companion rolled his eyes in exasperation and continued the conversation with the young woman, sucking his finger to remove the orange residue from the cheetos. With indifference, the kids began to relentlessly play the bell on the table, causing Sam to turn around with visible annoyance, which dissipated instantly upon recognizing the group.

"Max?" she exclaimed, greeting her sister, who promptly released the hand of a dark-skinned boy upon meeting Sam's gaze. He was her boyfriend. The reaction only drew a complicit smile on her sister's face. "Billy will be here at eight o'clock sharp, so have fun with your friends in the meantime," she articulated, as she rummaged into the tips jar and gave her sister a few cents to enjoy the arcade machines.

The minutes passed with the slowness of an hourglass, each grain of time falling with the weight of expectation. The arcade, once filled with laughter and the tinkling of machines, fell into an expectant silence. Only Max's group, Keith, and Sam remained. Her companion, with a lazy smile, watched Sam, who, skillfully, reviewed the earnings of the nearest Bomb Jack machine, her unwavering concentration. Max, for her part, lost herself in contemplation of the flashing lights coming from the game that Lucas was trying to complete, her mind wandering between the game and the imminent arrival of Billy. The purring of an engine broke the calm, a sound that grew in intensity until the roar of Billy's blue Camaro was present, a mechanical lion announcing his arrival. The car stopped with a growl.

With a series of hasty goodbyes, Sam and Max made their way through the games and neon lights. The door closed behind them with a muffled thud, and they found themselves immediately assaulted by the torrential rain. The drops hit the pavement hard, splashing and soaking everything in their path. They ran towards the waiting car, the engine revving barely audible above the roar of the rain. Despite the short distance, the rain was merciless, soaking them to the bone in a matter of seconds. Their clothes clung to their skin, and water ran down their faces, but that didn't slow them down.

In an act of carelessness that bordered on malice, Billy had activated the lock on his car, prolonging the exposure of the sisters to the furious storm. Sam, in particular, was in a disadvantageous situation, forced to wait under the curtain of water while Max settled into the back seat.

When they finally slid into the car, Sam took the passenger seat with a tense expression, her anger palpable in the humid air. She was convinced that Billy had calculated those additional seconds with precision, a small revenge for something past, right? However, in his irritation, he did not notice that he had condemned his precious leather seats to a watery destiny. Now, soaked and cold to the touch, the seats reflected the carelessness of a moment that had become an eternity under the rain. Billy, for his part, could only silently lament the sentence he had himself dictated over his beloved Camaro, as he had no time to argue, but Sam did.

"You should know you're a total asshole," Sam exclaimed out of the blue, about five minutes into the car ride, surprising Billy with her accusation.

"I don't have time for your nonsense, you spoiled brat," he responded, teeth clenched and fingers tense on the steering wheel, licking and biting his lower lip with a smile, attempting to contain his anger.

"Oh, yes you do, so you'll listen to me carefully," the drenched young woman retorted, raising her voice as she settled into the leather seat to confront Billy, who kept his gaze fixed on the road, knowing that any eye contact with Sam would only intensify her anger. "We didn’t make you wait at all, but you left us in the rain for what seemed like forever. Just look at me now!" she protested, now shouting, pointing at him with her index finger and twisting the edge of her shirt to squeeze it inside the car, in a small act of revenge. The rainwater had invaded the area of the gearshift and the cup holder. Billy turned his head toward her with a furious expression, evaluating the situation. He was visibly angry.

"Are you out of your mind!? I ain’t got time to clean the damn car, you get me? So you’re gonna clean it with your damn tongue, bitch!" he shouted back, with palpable aggression, not taking his eyes off the girl, not paying attention to where he was going.

Max, aware of the situation, looked worried. She tried to warn Billy in a low voice, not wanting to get involved in the everyday fight between her siblings. Both were too absorbed in their argument to notice.

"Oh, yeah? You’re so busy shoving crap that ain’t alcohol into your body you can’t even clean the damn car?!" they continued shouting full of fury.

"And what you did in... !?" Billy started shouting, but his voice gradually faded away, interrupted by something unexpected. Sam thought she had run out of arguments, feeling like she had won the fight, but the reality was very different.

The young woman did not realize that the reason for Billy's sudden silence was herself, specifically her figure. Although the boy had seen his stepsister without pants before, she was always covered by a loose shirt that hid her form, due to the cold weather here. However, this time it was different. The rain had adhered Samantha's shirt to her body, outlining her waist and curves prominently, but the most striking were her breasts. Billy was surprised to see that they were much larger than expected, and small, erect buttons in the center added an additional touch of temptation. A wave of heat ran through his body, clouding his mind and leaving him speechless. He couldn't understand what was happening to him, but all he could think about was how those breasts would look without anything covering them.

Just seconds later, the golden-haired young man parked his vehicle in front of the threshold of his house, averting his gaze to avoid temptation, without even offering a goodbye to his stepsisters.

"Thanks," Sam expressed with a harsh tone, as she exited the car. Max replicated the gesture, although with a more neutral tone.

Billy, with a furtive glance, watched both figures rush inside the house, noticing how those ripped and worn jeans clung to Samantha's silhouette. With a sigh, he leaned his head back against the seat, closed his eyes, and covered his face with his hand. Moments later, he repositioned his hands on the wheel and glanced at his watch, realizing that something didn't fit. An unexpected lump stood out in his pants, a quite large lump that definitely shouldn't be there…

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The rain hit the windshield with a constant rhythm, as if marking the beat of Billy's anger. The windshield wipers moved from side to side, trying to clear the view, but the storm was persistent.

Inside the car, the radio played a hard song, almost drowned out by the sound of the rain. Billy adjusted the volume, letting the strong melody fill the space. The dashboard lights shone dimly, creating an intimate atmosphere in which he was alone with his thoughts.

The air smelled of wet earth, a scent that mixed with the perfume he had chosen for the occasion. Every red light was a pause in his internal monologue, a moment to catch his breath and rehearse in his mind what he would say when he saw the girl he had charmed that night. As he drove, the deserted streets and blurry buildings became the backdrop of his adventure. The city seemed different in the rain, more mysterious, as if it held secrets that were only revealed to those who dared to explore it under the veil of water.

Billy finally arrived, parked the car, and remained silent for a moment, watching the drops slide down the window. He forgot about his date and began to brood over the bad day he had had and how his relationship with his stepsister was getting worse, feeling a slight feeling of sadness that dissipated instantly when a teenager opened the door as his neon lights pointed. She wore only red lace panties that delicately hugged her curves, along with a short lace nightgown that completely exposed her breasts. The reason for their meeting that night was evident. Billy immediately forgot about what had happened during the day, allowing a mischievous smile to form on his face.

Hurriedly, he turned the key and stepped out of the car to avoid getting wet in the rain, although it was futile, since it was impossible, but it was worth it "Who would have thought that all that heat would be in that body today?" he purred with a deep voice, wrapping his arm around the girl's waist and pushing her hips towards his so she could feel his erection, which was already present before seeing his companion that night but she had further fueled his desire

"You did well to let me know your parents wouldn't be home. You needed a babysitter, right?"

The girl simply laughed at his comment, grabbing Billy's denim jacket and pulling him into the house, closing the door behind them.

Meanwhile, on the other side of town, the noisy night was accompanied by the soft sound of a brush against skin. Sam stood in front of the mirror, her movements reflected in the polished surface as she meticulously applied her makeup. The dim light in the room barely revealed her figure, but her eyes reflected a fierce determination. It was the calm before the storm, the preparation for an escape that promised to be as exciting as it was dangerous.

Max watched from the slightly open door, her silhouette barely visible in the threshold "Are you sure about this?" she asked, her voice a whisper that mingled with the darkness.

Sam did not respond immediately, her unwavering concentration as she carefully traced the last eyeliner stroke "Of course, it's easy. You just have to tell them I'm sleeping and not to come into my room", she finally said, her voice full of a confidence that needed no more words.

With one last look in the mirror, Sam stood up, her straight posture defying any doubts that may have existed.

Less than half an hour later, the sound of a familiar engine began to be heard in the distance, a sign that her plan could begin. With high heels in one hand and an umbrella in the other, she carefully opened the window, trying not to make noise. Just as they opened the front door, Sam closed it.

The cold night breeze caressed her face, and a shiver ran down her spine. Despite her careful planning, she couldn't help but sigh in frustration as she felt the mud splash against her bare feet.

Around the corner, Vicki's car came into view, an oasis of fun in the midst of the rainy night. The lights inside illuminated their conspiratorial smiles. "Sammy, get in quickly!" Vicki exclaimed, while Nicole nodded enthusiastically. Sam slid into the backseat, closing the door just as a laugh escaped her lips.

"You have no idea what we have in store for tonight" Nicole began, with her typical annoying girl accent, chewing gum while the car pulled away, leaving behind Samantha's silhouette "Last year's Halloween party was epic, and Tina promised to surpass herself this year".

Meanwhile, Sam pulled out a cigarette from the packet she had hidden in her bra and lit up.

The excitement for the start of vacations was palpable in the air, almost as dense as the rain that had pounded the streets minutes earlier. But now, the storm had calmed, leaving a trail of shiny drops on the asphalt that reflected the lights of the town.

The three friends, enveloped in a bubble of laughter and plans, talked non-stop. Between confessions and promises of an unforgettable night, the conversation turned to how they would let themselves be carried away by the euphoria of the moment, how they would dance without inhibitions and perhaps flirt with boys under the starry sky that was beginning to appear.

The night promised to be one of those stories that would be told over and over again, each time with more details and more color, as if time embellished the memories. And as Vicki's car slid down the road, the three friends plunged into the anticipation of what was to come, a summer that could be the best of their lives.

They drove through a neighborhood adjacent to Tina's, where a residence stood out, the only one lit on the entire street. The young women chose to pass by without paying attention, absorbed in their conversation about what cassette to play next. In that same residence, Billy was immersed in a difficult task.

Everything went smoothly from the start, but preconceived notions about his stepsister resurfaced in his mind, stopping him at key moments and deeply unsettling the young man. The blonde clenched his eyelids tightly to avoid thinking about it, while executing intense movements that resonated throughout the house.

The girl called the boy, imploring him to look at her and utter words of misconduct at the same time.

(These kids these days and their strange tastes... (≖᷆︵︣≖))

Billy thought it was a good idea, but as he opened his eyes, he thought he saw his stepsister's face in the girl, moving away precipitously, rubbing his eyes fiercely to confirm her identity. He didn't want to cum while thinking about his stepsister.

"I have to go..." he announced suddenly, adjusting his pants while his excitement persisted. It could be said that even more... The girl was stunned, not knowing what to do or say.

Hargrove, still panting and sweat-drenched, tried to adjust his bulge, but his tight jeans didn't cooperate in those moments.

Before the girl could react completely, the boy slipped out, closing the door of the residence in her face, hurrying to his car, where anger took hold of him, hitting the steering wheel repeatedly and repeatedly honking the horn, scaring the stray cats that wandered the wet street. Seconds later, a smile returned to his face as he looked at himself in the mirror, running his fingers through his hair and checking the time again, remembering that a girl, whose name he barely remembered, was hosting a party his friends were attending. He quickly forgot about the girl and set off towards the address written on a piece of paper, located among used condom wrappers and cassettes.

He left confident, confident that he would find numerous attractive girls who had come to town for the summer, and that he could seduce with his charming rebel surfer's charm, and enjoy the company of his equally uninhibited friends.

The tires slid on the deserted streets. The engine of his car murmured softly in the quiet night. The streetlights blinked as he passed, reflecting on the hood like shooting stars. As he approached Tina's house, the music grew louder, a persistent bass that throbbed in his chest. Upon arrival , he parked with a loud screech and stepped out of the car. The house was lit up like a lighthouse, laughter and chatter floated in the air. In the front yard, his friends were huddled together, dancing shadows against the warm light emanating from the house.

"Billy, Billy!" they shouted in unison, their voices rising above the music. The bottles in their hands glistened in the moonlight as they raised their arms in a jubilant greeting. "Billy, Billy, Billy!" they sang, again and again, their words becoming a welcome anthem, a cheerful and unrestrained melody that celebrated his arrival.

The blonde responded with a smile, the warmth of the welcome mixing with the coolness of the night. These were his people here, his moment, and the night had only just begun.

With a triumphant smile, Billy made his way through his friends and took the bottle of Jack Daniel's from Tommy's hands. He lifted it in a bold gesture and, without hesitation, tilted his head back, letting the amber liquid flow freely. The whiskey slipped down his throat, a warm current that promised euphoria and uninhibition. When he finished, he let out a triumphant shout, a roar that resounded with the energy of the night. A few rogue drops of Jack Daniel's escaped from the corners of his mouth, tracing a damp path down his neck and disappearing under the fabric of his t-shirt. His friends burst into laughter, the sound of their joy mixing with the music inside and the shouts of jubilation.

One of them, still laughing, handed him a cold beer. "To finish off, champ!" they encouraged him, as Billy accepted the bottle with a knowing smile. He opened it with a snap and brought the edge to his lips, ready to continue the celebration. The party was in full swing and, in just a few seconds, Billy was the undisputed protagonist of the night.

The atmosphere was electric, charged with laughter and the murmur of animated conversations. The notes of a soft and seductive song floated in the air, mingling with the bittersweet aroma of beer. They had spent an hour talking about their conquests and academic failures, each anecdote more hilarious than the last. The night was young and the possibilities, endless.

With high spirits fueled by alcohol and camaraderie, they decided to venture into the heart of the party. The house, lit up with dim lights and decorated with colorful garlands, vibrated to the rhythm of the music. As they entered, their bodies began to move almost instinctively, letting themselves be carried away by the melody that promised more than just a dance. That's when he saw her. A silhouette that immediately captured his attention, a girl who danced with the same passion and grace as the slow and sensual song that played. Her hair moved in waves to the rhythm of the music, and although he could only see her back, there was something about her posture that irresistibly drew him in. Surrounded by friends, she was the center of a whirlwind of laughter and fluid movements. With determined but gentle steps, he began to approach. Every step was a beat of the song, every movement a line of the story that was about to be written. The distance shortened and the anticipation grew; he was about to enter the orbit of the unknown, ready to join the dance and discover where the night would take them.

With determined steps, he approached the brunette, letting the music envelop them in its seductive melody. His compliments flowed naturally, expressing his admiration for her skillful movements. With a bold gesture, he slipped his arm smoothly around the girl's waist, feeling the curve of her back under his touch as he pulled her closer to him. The closeness was intoxicating; Billy's hips fit perfectly against the girl's back, forming an intimate connection that moved to the hypnotic rhythm of the song. Every movement was a sensual dance, an improvised choreography that enveloped them in an aura of irresistible attraction. Initially, the girl seemed to tense up, ready to push him away abruptly, but as she felt Billy's firm grip and noticed his athletic physique pressing against her, her reaction changed. Although she still couldn't see him, the sensation of his muscled arm clinging to her, his toned torso against her back, and his deep voice resonating in her ear, sparked a spark of intrigue and excitement in her. Moreover, the effect of alcohol clouded her inhibitions, causing worries and doubts to fade into the mist of the party. In that state of disregard and euphoria, she decided to go with the flow, allowing the chemistry of the moment to envelop them in a dance of desire and mutual attraction.

Through the haze of the drink, one of her friends watched every move, although their minds were not entirely clear. The other, with a playful smile, leaned against the other and murmured something unintelligible, but clearly amused. The friend turned and laughed, completely oblivious to her friend's confusion. The stranger with whom she was dancing led her with confidence. The friends, in their alcoholic state, began to speculate with knowing looks and comments between laughs. "Who is that hunk?" one asked, while another replied with an exaggerated shrug. Finally, when the song ended, the expressions of the friends went from amusement to astonishment. "It's Billy!" they exclaimed in unison, their voices rising above the music.

With every move, Billy drew closer to the unknown girl. His hands, skillful and determined, gently roamed the contours of her body as his lips delicately explored the exposed skin of her neck. The touch of his lips sent shivers down the girl's spine, who let herself be carried away by the exhilarating sensation of the moment.

Without warning, Hargrove took the initiative and spun the girl around, pulling her towards him with a fiery impulse. Their kiss was like a spark that ignited desire in both of them, a fire that threatened to consume them completely. Billy's hand slid firmly to rest on the curve of the girl's hip, while his other hand gently clung to her nape, intensifying the contact between their bodies. The sound of the girl's laughter whispered in Billy's ear, causing a mischievous smile to form on his lips. They separated briefly, but their gazes remained connected, charged with complicity and desire. However, when they finally recognized each other, a mix of surprise and complication took hold of their faces, breaking the spell of the magical moment they had shared.

(Billy Hargrove x fem¡OCMayfield)

Samantha Danielle Mayfield finally decides to move to Hawkins with her sister and mother, as well as her mother's new husband and his arrogant son, William "Billy" Hargrove. what they are unaware of is that, gradually, these step-siblings will discover that the line between contempt and passion is more fragile than they supposed, and what begins as shared hostility turns into an intense and undeniable attraction that both find themselves unable to resist.

warnings: read at your own risk, as it includes a continuous sexual environment, profanity, mention of death and suicide, step-sibling relationship, sex, and all its derivatives.

words: 2,5k +

author’s note: i have decided to rewrite this story after so long, so i will tag some people who interacted with my old story. if you don't want to be tagged, let me know and no problem i will remove you and not tag you again 🩵.

(if someone wants to be tagged just tell me)

this work is entirely my own creation. that is to say, i have not based it on anyone else's, so any resemblance to any other work is purely coincidental, as i have been using this format for all my stories since 2019. i hope you enjoy the story. if you find any translation errors, something you don't understand, or similar, please let me know.

masterlist next chapter

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Chapter One: Shot Throught The Heart - Bon Jovi

Samantha Danielle Mayfield. Yes, Mayfield. She found the surname Hargrove detestable.

Ever since that fateful day when Neil Hargrove took Susan from the arms of the two young girls' father, Samantha has been unable to forgive her mother. She chose to stay with her father indefinitely, firmly resolved not to see her mother's face again, or so she believed. Susan had "betrayed" the Mayfields, fracturing the relationship between Max and Samantha to the point of only allowing them sporadic encounters, plunging both sisters into deep sadness.

As the years passed, they got used to seeing each other only on weekends, and everything seemed to be going well. Until one day, a letter arrived at the Sam residence, which read:

“Hello Sammy,

I am writing to invite you to my wedding with Neil in a few months. We are very happy and wish to share our joy with you. Also, there are some things we need to discuss in person that you should know.

With love,

mom.”

Samantha received the news with displeasure, but over time she understood that everyone is free to decide about their life and that she had to respect it, as nothing would change to please her wishes. So, swallowing her pride, she began the search for a dress for the occasion.

The ceremony went off without incident. Max and Sam were playing cards when Susan stealthily approached her eldest daughter and whispered the dreaded words:

“We need to talk.”

Upon hearing her mother's prepared speech, Samantha burst into tears. She couldn't bear the idea of her mother taking Maxine away from her. Her sister was almost her best friend; separating them was an act of selfishness, wasn't it?

Samantha's reaction was intense. She screamed how great her hatred was for that family, capturing the attention of all those present and ruining part of the wedding. She insulted everyone for the last time and fled in search of a phone booth to call her father, who consoled her, equally affected, trying to convince her that it wouldn't be so bad, that they could keep in touch and visit occasionally.

After the incident, they decided to postpone the move for another year, until early 1984, due to the girl's immature behavior and the deterioration of her father's health, whose lung cancer was advancing inexorably. Months later, at the end of 1984, the girls' father died, unable to fight the cancer that rapidly consumed his weakened body, leaving a huge void in both, but especially in Samantha. She decided not to inform anyone, except her sister through a letter that would arrive a month later, which meant that Samantha lived alone during that time, surviving with difficulty.

The news devastated Maxine, who informed her mother. Susan, very worried, called Samantha repeatedly, not knowing that her daughter had escaped. She called all the authorities in California to find her daughter.

Samantha distanced herself from everything and everyone. She left behind friends and family, taking with her only a letter from Max, some clothes, and the little money she had left. Just the day before Christmas, guided by the offers at the bus stations and the address in Maxine's letter, Sam decided to go to Hawkins, Indiana. Her arrival on December 24, '84, was a Christmas gift for her distressed mother, who interrupted her prayers upon hearing the doorbell. Seeing the familiar face, Susan burst into tears, hugging her daughter tightly and shouting for joy. The commotion attracted everyone present, who ran to witness the emotional reunion between the two redheads and the brunette at the door.

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Six months had passed since the death of their father, and five since her arrival in Hawkins.

Samantha had settled just in time for the start of the second academic term. Despite the widespread interest in befriending her, she only forged ties with a select and quite different group, as most did not pique her interest. Among her new friends was the one she liked best, Keith, the affable young man in charge of the game room, the Arcade, who offered her employment during the school year upon seeing her go there so often, forging a solid friendship based on common interests; two ruby-haired girls, Vicki and Nicole, with whom she shared lunch in the cafeteria and moments of hidden cigarettes under the staircase; and the charming Nancy Wheeler, who became a great ally during Sam's first days of adaptation. Obviously, in the best position was her little sister, Maxine, whom she sneaked into the Arcade and would give everything for. Despite all this, Danielle was quite flirtatious, so she liked to attract the attention of boys, flirt and play with their feelings when she went out at night with Vicki and Nicole. On the other hand, there were people that the brunette couldn't stand, the most notable being her stepbrother, Billy, and his close circle, except for the two redheads mentioned earlier. Exhausted by his arrogant attitude, the girl promised herself that one day she would punch that stupid face. The animosity was mutual. Even when Neil, her stepfather, forced Billy to take the sisters home and bring them from the institute, he occasionally "forgot" his duty, leaving them stranded there, returning on foot. To top it off, the intensity of their two characters caused constant altercations at home, always ending with Neil hitting and scolding Billy or yelling and blaming Susan for the behavior of his eldest daughter, which caused even worse behavior on the part of the eldest, who couldn't stand her mother, but after all, she was the one who had brought her into the world, so she didn't quite like the idea of someone raising their voice to her progenitor.

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Neil and the sisters’ mother had left for California, as they needed to take care of some paperwork related to the Hargrove family’s old residence. It was important to have an in-person conversation with the lawyer. As a result, they would be back in a couple of hours. For Sam, this meant the freedom to sleep all day without anyone bothering her.

At eight in the morning, the couple woke up the kids to inform them of their departure, mentioning that they would return early in the morning. After that, everyone seemed to fall back asleep. The older siblings were tasked with supervising Max, a duty that didn’t seem challenging.

Samantha easily drifted off to sleep. Final exams were over, summer vacation was just around the corner, and the air conditioning in her room promised refuge from the summer heat. She discarded her pants, leaving herself in underwear and an oversized T-shirt, and nestled under the sheets in an idyllic climate. However, the teenager’s perfect plan was interrupted when, in her dream, Billy appeared wearing his ridiculous oversized blue tracksuit. This time, it looked even more comically large, and the music thundered until Sam felt like her eardrums would burst, abruptly waking her up. The strident melody wasn’t part of her dream; it was coming from the room next door, Billy’s room.

The volume was excessive.

Sam tried to ignore it, not wanting to confront Billy today. In fact, she had considered completely ignoring her stepbrother’s existence during this time. She attempted to drown out the sound with her pillows, but after several failed attempts, she jumped out of bed, ripped off her sleep mask, and flung it across the room. It collided with a poster of Tom Cruise, adorned with lipstick marks on his massive cheek. Angry, she smacked the clock that read nine-thirty in the morning.

“Does this idiot have no brain?” she muttered aloud, delivering a blow to the alarm clock. The battery popped out, rolling under the bed.

With resounding steps, she marched toward the door, which she flung open with such force that it slammed against the wall, enlarging the existing hole with each slam. But that was inconsequential at the moment. What truly mattered was throttling Billy until he was breathless. Samantha advanced down the hallway, possessed by rage, until she reached her stepbrother’s door. She pounded on it frantically, demanding that he either lower the music volume or turn it off altogether. After a series of forceful knocks and numerous unanswered shouts, she decided to swing the door open abruptly, not anticipating the scene that awaited her on the other side.

“Billy, I'm so sick of you blasting music at this hour… Oh, shit!” Sam burst into the room, her eyes narrowed in fury, words pouring out rapidly. As she opened her eyes wider, she was met with an unusually peculiar sight…

The increasing wave of moans and lascivious sounds, both male and female, erupted, intertwined with powerful music, completely flooding the house, not just limited to the bedroom. Among these gasps, those of a blonde who shared Billy’s presence stood out. The young woman lay naked, reclined on the bed, which, along with the sheets, seemed to slide down inexorably, although at that moment, surely, that was not her main concern. Although her bust was quite small, it bounced in an unexpected way. They looked like… flan? Billy’s fingers sank into her waist, squeezing with an intensity as if his life depended on it. However, the problem was that Sam had caught Billy in the act of carnal activity, that is, fucking. She had taken in the sweat that soaked his body, slightly dampening his hair, which clung to his forehead and neck; the deep growls that escaped from his lips; the vigorous and fast movement of his hips and the roar that emanated from them; the expression of concentration manifested in his firm bite on his lower lip, and in his eyes, those that said everything, which met Samantha’s just as she opened them, unleashing an involuntary scream from both of them.

“Holy-. Sam! You don’t know how to knock on a damn door? Get the hell out!” he exclaimed with a startled and hoarse voice, covering himself as best he could with the sheet that, as he pulled it, caused the girl who was covered to fall off, not caring at all that his companion was completely uncovered. He quickly threw a magazine, which landed right on the young woman’s shoulder, who closed the door probably faster than the speed of light.

Samantha was frozen, staring at the white wooden door, marked with several scratches and holes from Billy’s punches from inside, reflecting on what had just happened and how to erase that moment from her mind.

“Holy shit…” she gasped. It was the only thing that could come out of her lips at that moment.

“What’s going on?” Max asked behind her, yawning and startling her, almost giving her a heart attack. “I just woke up because of the screams. Are you guys fighting again?” she asked her older sister innocently, assuming that everything boiled down to a usual argument, and without hesitation, taking her side.

Sam nodded and smiled. That was all she did.

“Why don’t you make breakfast today? I… I have to go to the bathroom… yeah.” The young woman sneaked away, reaching the bathroom and locking it, leaning her hands on the sink as she stared at herself in the mirror. She began to lift her shirt and compare herself with the figure of the blonde she had seen because Sam believed her breasts were small, but upon seeing them, she changed her mind. What Samantha didn’t realize was that her distorted perception of her body was leading her to see herself that way, given the taunts she had received from her former friends and, now, Billy, when in reality, she had an enviable figure.

After splashing cold water on her face, she decided to use the toilet before going to breakfast, realizing that she had wet her underwear while recalling the scene with her stepbrother. She couldn’t believe it. It all seemed like a lie to her.

“What’s happening to me?” she wondered, putting her hand on her forehead to check for a fever.

A few moments later, Sam perceived voices coming from the bathroom window facing the street. She interrupted her actions to look out cautiously, still with her panties down, watching as the blonde she had seen in Billy’s room just minutes ago had a heated argument with her stepbrother, who had just received a slap.

“You promised me we would be alone, you jerk,” the girl’s voice echoed in the distance as she got into her car and drove away from the Hargrove residence, extending her middle finger in a defiant gesture through the window, gradually disappearing on the horizon. Samantha felt a deep sense of relief upon confirming that the girl had left. She exhaled deeply and left the bathroom with the intention of savoring the aroma that had attracted her so much: freshly made waffles by Max. However, upon leaving, she came face to face with Billy, who appeared before her wearing only his underwear, exposing his happy trail situated between his V, and a cigarette between his lips. His skin was so covered in sweat that it gave the impression he had just emerged from the shower.

“Move,” he demanded with authority, firmly gripping the girl’s arm and moving her on his own with a gentle but strong push, causing one of her breasts to rub against his damp bicep.

“Don’t touch me, Billy,” threatened the girl, a little uncomfortable with everything that had happened earlier, walking away toward the kitchen.

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(OS Jim Hopper x milf(fem)!reader)

summary: You go back to your childhood village and fuck your former fuck buddy.

word count: 4k +

warnings: +18 (smut), divorce, you have a child (you're 40), running away from home, mention of fights and infidelity, smoking, kissing, protected sex in a car.

(english isn’t my first language, im spanish)

a/n: i wrote this cause Hopper drives me crazy. i love dilfs, and Hop is the perfect example of one.

masterlist

━━ ✧♡✧ ━━ ✧♡✧ ━━ ✧♡✧ ━━

It was a suffocating afternoon in June, the sun was relentlessly on Hawkins, a town that seemed to have stopped in time. The four months since the signing of the divorce had passed in a sigh, but every day without it was a relief. The decision to move was not easy, but necessary. The house you once shared with your ex-husband was now in his name, and although every corner of it resonated with the echoes of broken promises and betrayals, you didn't feel sorry to leave it behind.

Your son James, although resentful of having to abandon his previous life, shared your disdain for the man they once called father and husband. Hawkins was your refuge, a place of bittersweet memories of a rebellious youth that now embraced you in a family hug. James, despite his initial fury, had found his place among the young people of the town. Friends who, although they were not entirely to your liking, gave him a sense of belonging.

As for you, life had taken a frantic pace. The manufacturing factory in the neighboring town had become your second home, consuming your days with a job that demanded all your attention. The streets of Hawkins, which you once traveled with the freedom of youth, were now foreign to you, seen only through the window of your car while you made the necessary shopping and errands on the way home.

Loneliness sometimes weighed you down, the lack of old connections and the difficulty of forging new ones in the middle of the routine. But there was an iron determination within you, the same one that led you to sign those divorce papers, the same one that drove you to move forward. Hawkins was now your home, and you were determined to rebuild your life, piece by piece, in this place that offered you a new beginning.

Tiredness adhered to your bones like dust to the old factories. The day had been long and the work in manufacturing had left you exhausted. When you got out of your car, a dilapidated Ford Galaxie caught your attention. It was an old model, one of those that were almost no longer seen, with the paint worn out and the roar of the engine revealing years of use. The boy who was driving him maneuvered with an ability that denied the appearance of the vehicle, parking it with a care that seemed to reserve only for him.

He got out of the car with surprising agility, closing the door with a dry knock that resonated in the silence of the sunset. His hair was a tangle of rebellious hairs that fell on his forehead, and although his clothes were worn out, there was an innate elegance in his demeanor. He went to the smallest figure that was waiting for him on the edge of the sidewalk, a boy who could not be more than thirteen years old, with a backpack hanging from one shoulder and an expression of impatience.

The teenager bent down to live up to the child, talking to him with a mixture of affection and authority that only the older brothers possess. There was something in his gaze, a spark of determination and a shadow of sadness, which reminded you of someone from the past. It was the vivid image of Lonnie Byers, a name that you had not pronounced in years, but that now returned to you with the force of a train at full speed.

Memories flooded you, images of more innocent days and nights of teenage adventures.

The reflection in the mirror showed more than a simple image; it was the portrait of an era, an unbridled youth full of life. "Come on, Joyce! Byers wants to see you! He’s come all the way from Shelbyville just for you!" You exclaimed, while your expert hands finished shating the Victory Rolls that crowned your head. Carl Perkins' music set the rhythm in the room, and your feet couldn't resist following it, even if it was only with a soft swing.

Your plaid shirt, unbuttoned with brazenness, contrasted with the tight jeans that exposed your ankles, an insinuation of rebellion that was completed with the matching heels. That rocky air was your signature, the statement of a night that promised to be unforgettable.

Joyce, on the other hand, wore the elegance of a black cocktail dress that enhanced her figure, complemented by kitten heels that echoed her sophistication. Her bouffant hairstyle, perfect and voluminous, staggered slightly with her nervous laughter. The comment about Lonnie had taken her by surprise, but it didn't take long to launch her counterattack. "Well, idiot William has crossed all of Indiana to see you, and you still keep seeing Hopper. So don’t act like he matters to you!" Her joke was a spark in the conversation, as sharp as the ash that gave off her cigarette when she fell into the ashtray.

The horn of the car broke the cadence of music and laughter. It was Jim, impatient in his gray Dodge Coronet, with a beer in his hand and a smile that he could barely contain. "Come on, girls, we're late!" His deep voice was a call to adventure, and you, accomplices in the mischief, picked up your things in a hurry, ready to slide out the window and immerse yourself in the night that awaited you, a night where youth and rock music would be the true protagonists.

The smile of nostalgia clung to your lips as you returned to reality, determined to approach the boy and unravel the mystery. You walked with safe steps towards him, your low heels barely whispering on the floor. The boy, on his back, turned when he felt your touch on his shoulder. "Excuse me," you called, and his gaze met yours.

"Do you need anything?" He asked with a smile, a hint of nervousness in his eyes.

"By any chance, could your father be Lonnie?" You asked without preamble, without even introducing yourself. The question took them by surprise, and they both nodded.

"Yeah, why? What has he done now?" The boy replied, with a stop of tiredness. Your heart was beating faster; you were on the right track.

"And your mother, could she by any chance be Joyce?" You asked with enthusiasm. Your former best friend had had children with that boy with whom she was so much and talked to. The two nodded, although the minor seemed to be on the defensive.

"Why are you looking for my parents?" He finally asked, and his curiosity completely made your day. Quickly, with a smile from ear to ear, you rummaged through your bag and took out a piece of paper and a pen. You wrote down the landline number of your new house and your name, handing it over to the eldest.

"Give it to your mother and tell her to call me," you said with a smile, moving away from them. "Oh, and memories of your father from me," you added, watching your son sneak back, leaving the bike on the side of the house. His black eye was evidence of some altercation. "James! What happened?" You screamed, walking quickly towards him. The two brothers looked at each other strangely before getting in the car.

With your hands still trembling because of the urgency of taking care of your son, you had barely managed to stabilize the cotton on his black eye when the phone bell broke into the kitchen. "Stand this, honey!" You told your son, as you ran to the phone, sliding between the shopping bags still intact.

"Yes?" You answered, with a mixture of anxiety and hope vibrating in your voice. The possibility of it being her, after so long, made your heart beat hard.

"Hello, my son have given me this number for..." a voice began on the other side of the line. You didn't need more to recognize her.

"Joyce!" You exclaimed, interrupting her with an emotion that you couldn't and didn't want to hide. You introduced yourself quickly, explaining the reasons for your return to the village, and the conversation flowed as if time had not passed. You talked about everything and nothing, laughing and remembering, until the proposal came almost naturally.

"What do you think if we see each other tomorrow? At Enzo's?" You suggested, and the silence that followed was full of shared memories. Enzo's, the place where young couples met, where promises whispered under the dim light and looks said more than words.

"I would love to," Joyce finally replied, with a voice that brought with it the warmth of the old days.

You stayed to meet the next day, Friday night, in that corner of youth and dreams. You hung up the phone, a smile illuminating your face, while your son looked at you with curiosity. "Who was it, mom?" He asked, and you, with an even wider smile, simply answered: "An old friend, Jim."

The factory had been a whirlwind of noise and movement, but your mind was elsewhere, counting down the hours until the reunion. As the workday ended, you hurried home, heart pounding with a mix of nervousness and excitement. The empty space where your son's bicycle usually rested made you furrow your brow for a moment, but the anticipation of the reunion quickly overshadowed the concern.

In the tranquility of your home, with the radio resonating the melodies you loved, you dedicated yourself to beautifying. You observed your reflection in the mirror, surprised and pleased by the image it reflected: a woman defying the passage of time, radiant and full of life. You looked ten years younger. Your long hair fell in soft waves, and every stroke of makeup enhanced the beauty you had forgotten to possess. The long black dress clung to your figure gracefully, and the low heels were the finishing touch of subtle elegance.

The wedding ring, a symbol of a past you no longer wished to carry, was stripped from your finger and cast into oblivion. With a light soul and rejuvenated spirit, you left home and headed to Enzo's.

Upon entering, the sight of Joyce filled you with a warmth that only old friends can inspire. Her figure stood out in the dimness of the restaurant, and as you called out to her, she turned towards you with a smile that lit up the room. The embrace you shared was a bridge between the past and the present, a bond that time had not been able to break.

"Oh, girl, look at you!" exclaimed Joyce, admiring your transformation. "You look beautiful, and I've missed you so much!" Words flowed between you as if you had never been apart, and as you sat down to dinner, stories and laughter began to weave, reconstructing the tapestry of a friendship that had survived distance and years. It was a night to remember, a night to celebrate the bonds that, despite everything, had never been broken.

The evening had passed amid laughter and memories, a constant flow of conversation that took you from days of youth to present challenges. You spoke of your children, of the decisions that had shaped your lives, and of the ex-husbands who had left their mark on your paths. Despite the differences, you found yourselves at a similar crossroads, except Joyce had already found companionship.

"Bob the Brain?!" you repeated, surprised and amused, as a soft laughter escaped your lips. Joyce, now with a gentle blush on her cheeks, joined in your laughter. "Shhh! He's a wonderful man, really," she insisted, taking a generous sip of her wine.

The night seemed perfect until the uproar of confusion outside silenced the restaurant. Voices of young people echoed in the air, mixed with the sound of police sirens. Through the window, you distinguished the silhouette of your son, beer in hand, taunting another group. Irritation washed over you; it seemed impossible to enjoy a moment of peace.

You were about to ignore the incident and continue with dinner when the situation escalated. A blow, his body falling to the ground, and the police officers emerging from their vehicle in pursuit. Fear hit you like a cold wave. "Joyce, I'm sorry, I have to go," you said, leaving some bills on the table and hurrying out of the restaurant, feeling the stares of the other diners piercing your back.

The scene before you was like a moving photograph, capturing the chaos and desperation of a moment that seemed suspended in time. The officers, determination marked in their steps, headed towards your son, who, in an act of youthful panic, had chosen the worst possible hiding spot: a dead-end alleyway.

With your heart in your throat, you crossed the street, your gaze fixed on his figure, cornered and frightened. One misstep, and you felt your foot twist slightly under the weight of urgency. Without hesitation, you kicked off the heels, now more of a hindrance than an adornment, and held them between your fingers, along with the jacket you had brought in case the night turned cold.

As you approached, the two burly officers blocked the view, but you could see enough to know that your son was in a vulnerable position. "Jim!" you shouted, a mix of anger and concern, your voice cutting through the night air and drawing the attention of one of the officers. He turned towards you, surprised by the interruption, just as you uttered your son's name, but unknowingly, also his own.

The cold air of the alley only accentuated the rapidity of your breathing, each breath a reminder of the distance you had traveled from Enzo's to that dark corner of the city. The policemen, with their imposing figures, had become the focus of unwanted attention, but one of them seemed particularly fixated on you.

Jim, your son, had found shelter behind your smaller silhouette, his head barely visible over your shoulder. The darkness of the alley granted you partial anonymity, a shadow among shadows. "Hey, kid!" One of the policemen approached, his voice an echo of authority in the silence. You extended an arm, an instinctive barrier, keeping your distance. "What is my son supposed to have done?" you asked, a mixture of defiance and concern etched on your face.

That's when the other cop spoke your name, a familiar sound that cut through the tension like a bolt of lightning. "Yeah? That's my name," you replied, still on guard, but surprise washed over you as you recognized the man who had held a special place in your heart. "Hop..." you whispered, and your heels slipped from your toes, falling to the floor with a thud.

He repeated your name, his voice charged with an emotion that seemed to forget the current situation. "When did you come back?" he asked, his posture revealing an uncertainty you had rarely seen him display. At that moment, past and present collided, and the evening, which had begun with a reunion of old friends, now confronted you with an unexpected reunion that promised to change the course of events once again.

Emotion overwhelmed you, and words were lost in the whirlwind of feelings that swept over you. With a quick gesture, you handed your belongings to your son James, who watched you with a mixture of confusion and youthful disdain. Your attention was elsewhere, however, on Hopper's open arms, which embraced you in a hug that seemed to stop time.

The hours slipped by in a whisper as you found yourself in the police station, wrapped in Hopper's jacket, which covered you like a protective cloak. The machine coffee, bitter and comforting, was a small consolation in the midst of the chaos of the night. You had agreed that everything would remain a simple warning, and your son had returned home, leaving you alone with the officer.

"So Jim, huh?" Hopper's voice broke the silence, his tone carrying a tinge of jest and complicity. He leaned back against the desk, his figure relaxed in the emptiness of the police station. There was no one else, just the two of you and the echo of a past that suddenly seemed very present. "I hope that apart from having my name, he doesn't have my genes..." he joked, laughing as he lit a cigarette.

The police station was shrouded in complicit silence, broken only by the sound of your voices and the occasional creak of the table. "Oh, come on Hop, it's impossible..." you said, extending your arm in a familiar gesture, asking for the cigar you had shared so many times in the past. Nostalgia mingled with the tension of the moment, a reminder of what once was.

"Well, it's not," Hopper replied with a sly grin, raising an eyebrow as he passed you the cigarette. "You know, the night before your departure with William..." His voice faded into a hint, leaving the words floating in the air, laden with meaning.

The smoke from the cigar filled your lungs, as strong and pungent as ever, triggering a cough that shook your body. It was a bitter taste of memories and times you thought you had left behind. As you coughed, Hopper patted you on the back, a gesture of concern that needed no words.

Silence stretched between you, a blank canvas inviting reflection on the past. Your mother's house, now yours, was a beacon of memories, each room a chapter of your story. You had returned, not only to a place, but to a time you thought lost.

Hopper, with the familiarity of one who knows the weight of nostalgia, squeezed your shoulder gently. "And so, what is the reason for your visit?" his question was simple, but loaded with subtext and unspoken emotion.

Revelation fell into the room with the weight of a long-hidden truth. "I'm back because I'm divorced from William," you said, and you could see the surprise creep across Jim's face. Her eyes instinctively darted to your fingers, searching for the symbol of a marriage that no longer existed.

"Wow, a woman like you single?" Hopper joked, a playful smile on his lips as he took another puff on his cigar. The laugh that escaped your lips was genuine, a sound you hadn't heard in a long time, and you were flattered, even rejuvenated by the comment.

Cigar smoke curled in the air, creating a veil that seemed to separate the past from the present. In that small shared gesture, in that light joke, there was an acknowledgement of the changes you had gone through, of the woman you had been and the woman you were becoming.

The police station, with its atmosphere of confidences and memories, became a space where you could be yourself, unbound by a past you had decided to leave behind. And in Hopper's gaze, you found a reflection of that freedom, an unspoken promise of new beginnings.

The tension in the police station was palpable, a thin thread of electricity connecting the past to the present. Hopper looked at you, and in his silence was a sea of unspoken words. She approached slowly, each step an echo of the years that had passed. "I've missed you..." he whispered, his breath mingling with the cigarette smoke and brushing against your neck, sending a shiver down your spine.

You turned your head toward him, and suddenly, the space between you shrank to a whisper, to centimeters that seemed so much and so little at once. Memories of what you once shared intertwined with the reality of the moment, creating an instant charged with possibility.

You had spent almost your entire life at his side. He had been a part of all your discoveries, including the loss of your virginity, him being the cause. You loved him so much. You had not forgotten him all these years, reflected in your son's name: James.

Between the murmur of the coffee pot, the reunion with those thick lips was a surprise that accelerated your heart. An instant charged with nostalgia and desire unfolded as you felt the warmth of your mouth against his, now adorned by a neglected mustache that marked the passage of time. The correspondence of the kiss was instantaneous, as if the universe conspired to unite them at that precise moment.

Hopper, with his characteristic firmness, took your neck with decision, lifting it subtly to go deeper into the intensity of the kiss. The jacket over your shoulders fell to the floor with a barely perceptible rustle, exposing your skin, which responded to the contact with a slight shiver. Your hands, delicate and trembling, found refuge on his broad, sturdy shoulders, clinging to them as if they were the only anchor amidst a sea of churning emotions.

After a few more kisses, each more passionate than the last, you sensed how Hopper showed a palpable dexterity and desire to explore every inch of your lips. Each kiss was like a synchronized dance, where intensity and rhythm merged into a fiery, enveloping melody.

When he finally pulled away from you, he did so with a gesture that denoted a mixture of brazenness and desire, his eyes burning with a passion that was impossible to ignore. He stared at you, as if he wanted to engrave in his memory every expression, every nuance of your face, as if the image of that moment would be his salvation in the days to come.

In that instant, the air vibrated with electricity, charged with silent expectation and promise. The tension between you was palpable, as if you were on the edge of an emotional abyss, ready to let yourselves fall together into an abyss of pleasure and desire.

"Come to my house tonight...," Hopper whispered in a soft voice, as he stroked your hair and tucked it behind your ear with a mischievous smile that further ignited the flame of desire within you. Without a moment's hesitation, you nodded, confidently handing your hand over for him to take. With an almost feline swiftness, he adjusted his hat, turned off the lights in the police station and you left as if you were running away from something.

Opening the door to his truck, Hopper gave you a meaningful look, sliding his eyes down your legs before closing it with a subtle rap. Then, he reached around the vehicle to grab a trucker-style microphone, with which he began to emit little noises, a sort of Morse code that captured your attention, although you didn't give it too much importance at the time.

When he finally started up, you moved closer to him, noticing how the seats, old style, were closer together, allowing you to feel his presence more intimately. Hopper put his arm around you, drawing you to him with his comforting warmth. The scent emanating from his skin was a heady mix of tobacco and perfume, with a fresh, summery touch that enveloped you like a gentle night breeze.

You began to explore Hopper's rough neck with soft, delicate kisses, feeling the brush of his slightly unruly two-day-old beard against your lips, but you didn't mind that at all. Every time you found that sensitive spot just below his jaw, you could feel his body react, squeezing your thigh firmly, not caring to pull your dress up a little higher in the process. His moans, growing louder and louder, echoed in the night air as you purposefully massaged his crotch, feeling the tension through his uniform.

"You still have the same tastes as you did twenty years ago..." you teased in a husky tone, letting out a naughty whisper in his ear, which brought a mischievous smile to his lips. "I hope you hurry up..." you added with a touch of impatience, fueling the fire that burned between you.

"You wanted it..." Hopper responded with determination, suddenly accelerating and skidding down the road before pulling into a part of the forest. He parked the van urgently and unbuckled his seatbelt immediately. "We'll do it here...", he whispered with a tone charged with desire, throwing himself on you with unbridled passion.

Under the gloom of the trees, Hopper's figure pounced on yours, his eager lips seeking yours fiercely. You let go, feeling yourself fall backwards slowly onto the soft leather of the truck. Hopper's face sank into your neck and chest, as if he wanted to rip off that dress that prevented his access to your skin. His hands moved determinedly up your thighs, pulling them firmly apart so he could position himself between them.

You felt the weight of Jim Hopper's body on your hips, his heavy breathing and heat enveloping you completely. You noticed how his large member struggled to emerge from the confines of his clothing, the pressure palpable against your body. Determined to take the reins, you gently pushed Hopper's torso back, getting him to lie back on the seat as you straddled him, feeling his desire grow even more under your control.

Hopper's hands lost themselves in the curves of your hips and waist, roaming your skin greedily, while his lips latched onto one of your breasts, which had already been freed from its cloth prison. Each light suction and nibble sent a shiver of pleasure down your spine. "Mhmmm..." you moaned, clinging to his scalp with one hand, pressing it against your chest, seeking more of that delicious friction.

Between moans and gasping breaths, you asked, "Do you have condoms?" as your other hand sought support on the seat, steadying yourself for what was to come. Hopper, without releasing your chest, nodded urgently. His free hand quickly slid into the compartment of the vehicle, searching for and finding the small packet of condoms.

As Hopper deftly opened the condom package, you took the initiative and began to open another. With nimble hands full of anticipation, you undid his belt, feeling the buckle give under your eager fingers. Next, you opened the button of his pants, pulling down the zipper and revealing his briefs, where his member seemed to be on the verge of release, eager and throbbing.

You remembered him smaller, but perhaps the passage of years had made his desire and body develop even more. "Fuck... I'm jealous...", you moaned, as you lightly stroked his clothed cock, feeling the texture of the cotton that barely contained his arousal.

Hopper looked at you with a smirk, enjoying the game. "Why?" you asked, biting your lip to keep from letting out any more noises of pleasure.

"Because someone has been able to hold this cock longer than I have..." you laughed, a laugh that mixed desire and amusement. The chemistry between the two of you was palpable, a fire that had not dimmed with time, but now burned more intensely. You removed yourself from his lap, settling to the side for better maneuverability.

Jim, with a firm hand, pulled down his briefs, finally releasing that great beauty. His member, erect and throbbing, rose before you, eliciting a gasp of admiration. Hopper's cock was impressive, as was the man himself. Quite fat and solid, he stood with a hardness that spoke of his intense desire. Prominent veins ran down his length, pulsing with every beat of his heart, further highlighting his manhood. It was large, a powerful extension of his masculinity, reflecting his commanding presence. The tip, a shade pinker than the rest, was smoothly rounded and moist with anticipation. The glans stood out perfectly, with a slight curve that promised to reach the most intimate depths, even much, much more. If it already hurt as a teenager, you didn't even want to imagine now.

Wasting no time, you leaned into him, taking his length in your hand, feeling the heat and strength of his desire.

"So someone's been enjoying this, huh?" you whispered, your voice laden with a mixture of feigned jealousy and genuine desire. You began to stroke him with slow, deliberate movements, watching his every reaction, his eyes closed in pleasure, his parted lips emitting little moans. You reveled in that feeling of power and vulnerability. "But he's all mine now," you murmured, increasing the pressure of your caresses, feeling his body respond to your every move. Hopper let out a louder moan, unable to contain himself, his hands clutching the seat of the van.

"Let's see if you can handle it," he said huskily, half-opening his eyes to look at you with an intensity that made your heart beat even faster. You knew he was enjoying the moment as much as you were, and the anticipation of what was to come only increased the desire.

Finally, you positioned yourself over him again, taking the condom and placing it carefully, feeling the anticipation in the air. Hopper helped you, his hands firm and sure guiding you, as you settled in to receive him fully.

"Fuck!" you moaned sharply, clinging to Hopper tightly. You felt how that monstrosity seemed impossible to accommodate in your tight space. "No, Hop, I don't think-" your words were cut short when Hopper, with a mixture of firmness and determination, slammed down on your hips, managing to get almost all of his cock to fill you to the brim. You felt how a part of him still remained outside, but Hopper didn't seem willing to stop there.

Your eyes rolled from the intense pleasure and pain combined, as your nails dug into his back, leaving red marks on his skin. Your legs were shaking uncontrollably, and every fiber of your being was strained to the max. "Hopper, my God, I think I'm going to pass out..." you moaned weakly, your trembling voice reflecting the magnitude of the experience. Despite the overwhelming sensation, you clung to him tighter, searching for some anchor amidst the tide of sensation.

Hopper, with a deep, fierce growl, kept moving forward, his firm hands guiding your hips downward with determination. You felt him break the last barrier, his member pushing deeper, piercing your cervix and reaching your cervix. The moan that escaped your lips mingled with his, an echo of shared pleasure that reverberated through the cab of the van.

Every inch of your thick cock was being squeezed by the internal pressure, creating an intense, almost painful friction that you both knew would bring you to the brink of ecstasy. You were completely filled, each sharp movement of Hopper inside you sending ripples of pleasure that threatened to make you lose control. You were both on the verge of climax, feeling the climax inevitably approaching.

The muscles in your body contracted around him, increasing the pressure and intensity of the contact. Hopper, feeling your body respond in this way, began to move with more rhythm, his thrusts deep and powerful, pushing you both to the limit. His grunts mingled with your moans, creating a symphony of desire and pleasure.

"I'm so close..." murmured Hopper, his voice cracking with effort and passion. His glans, swollen and sensitive, brushed against every sensitive spot inside you, wrenching moans of uncontrollable pleasure. You felt the tension inside you peak, knowing that you were both moments away from collapsing in shared ecstasy.

Your legs were almost behind your head, a position that intensified his every movement. You felt Hopper's cock, thick and powerful, pierce all the way to your womb, eliciting much deeper, guttural moans from you. His lunges were sharp and powerful, each one causing the whole car to shake, including your body, which jerked with each thrust.

You were disoriented, lost in a sea of pleasure so intense you could barely react. The outside world disappeared, leaving only the overwhelming sensation of being completely filled, your senses invaded by every inch of Hopper inside you. Your breathing was erratic, and your moans mingled with the sounds of his thrusts, creating a symphony of unbridled passion.

Suddenly, you felt a big, thick thumb move back and forth over your clit. The pressure exerted by his finger was immediate and exact, sending waves of pleasure straight through your body. The second he landed on your clitoris, an explosive orgasm swept through you, wrenching a loud, prolonged moan from your lips.

Your body contracted violently, squeezing his cock hard, setting off a chain reaction. Hopper, feeling the incredible pressure and rhythmic pulse of your body around him, could not contain himself. A deep growl came from his throat as he cum inside you, his body trembling with the intensity of the unexpected climax.

Her thrusts became erratic, each one taking him deeper into their shared ecstasy. The van creaked under the pressure of the motion, the air filled with the scent of sex and sweat, the perfect blend of desire and release.

Finally, you were both exhausted, your bodies entwined in an intimate and vulnerable posture. Your legs, which had been almost behind your head, now rested around his waist, trembling with effort and pleasure. Hopper, his breathing still ragged, collapsed lightly on top of you, his arms wrapping around you in a possessive, comforting embrace.

The silence that followed was filled with whispers of satisfaction and the renewed connection between you. The car, which had witnessed their unbridled passion, was now a haven of calm and tenderness.

"Fuck..." you murmured softly, your voice still shaky from recent ecstasy. Hopper lifted his head and looked at you with a mixture of weariness and devotion, his eyes sparkling with a spark of joy.

"I know," he replied, a tired but satisfied smile on his lips. "I told you we'd do it here."

They laughed together, a soft sound that broke the silence of the night. In that moment, you knew that you had not only found physical pleasure with Hopper again, but also an emotional connection that time had not been able to erase.

-> plus

"Why the fuck is the cop eating breakfast at home, Mom?" asked Jim, in his underwear, embarrassed that the police chief would see him like this.

"Get used to it kid..." spoke Hopper with a mouth and beard full of cereal, grabbing you around the waist, bestowing a spank to give you a kiss on the cheek, lightly teasing the boy, raising his eyebrow.