Story Summary: Mini-series. Y/N is the captain of the female basketball team at Hawkins High. She clashes with the new captain of the male team when he keeps booking out the gym, leaving the girls with nowhere to practise.
Chapter Summary: Ashley confronts reader about basketball practice and Billy and reader have detention (shit hits the fan).
Chapter Warnings: swearing, Billy being an ass, both reader and Billy have anger issues, reader is complex and flawed (sorry ‘bout it), mild verbal aggression (from both), mild physical aggression (from reader), sexual tension, reader and Billy both being antagonistic. I think that’s it, please let me know if I missed anything.
A/N: Hey guys! Well, it’s been about 3 and a half years since I last posted for this fic and I’m finally back with chapter 6! I would like to thank the person who anonymously sent me an ask about this series recently. You made me want to continue writing it, when I’d lost all enthusiasm. This chapter is my gift to you, I hope you see it <3 This is just a short chapter, as I really wanted to update asap and this bit was mostly already written. Let me know what you think!
Word count: 2,364
Masterlist // Series Masterlist // Chapter Five
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The following day passes without much incident, until the gap between 5th and 6th period, that is. You’re searching in your locker for the textbook you need for your last lesson of the day, when a familiar, and unwelcome, voice sounds from beside you.
“There you are, I’ve been looking for you.”
Your stomach drops and you brace yourself, gripping the edge of your locker door.
Closing it, you see Ashley from your basketball team, leaning with one shoulder against the locker next to yours, smiling brightly, whilst she plays with the end of her braid. You can’t remember the last time she smiled at you, if ever.
“You have?” you ask, trying to keep the suspicion out of your tone.
“Yeah, I was just wondering if you wanted me to lead the session for you this evening,” she offers casually, flicking her braid back behind her shoulder. “You know, seeing as you won’t be there.” She smiles again, but her words are loaded.
Your hand goes to the strap of your messenger bag, fiddling with the material.
“Thanks for offering, but I’ve already got it covered,” you tell her. “I asked Nance to lead.”
“Yeah, I know,” she says with a shrug, “But I thought I’d offer, seeing as I have more experience than her.” She’s still smiling as she pushes away from the lockers and fixes her skirt with a flick of her hand. A gaggle of students passes by noisily, on the way to their next lesson.
“I’m fully confident in her abilities, which is why I asked her,” you say in Nancy’s defence, hitching your bag strap higher up your shoulder.
Ashley doesn’t appear to be put off by your words.
“Well,” she says, sweetly, “let's hope you're able to keep out of trouble. Or having someone else lead the sessions might become a more permanent thing.” She shrugs a shoulder, smiling one last time, then turns on her heel and walks away, confident as ever.
You watch her go, jaw clenched and your hand now balled into a fist around the strap of your bag.
It's only when you're in your final lesson, and the teacher asks for everyone to turn to the appropriate page in the textbook, that you realise you didn't even finish getting yours out of your locker.
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After school, you report to Mr. Boswick’s classroom for detention. You’re currently watching the clock above the chalkboard slowly ticking away the minutes as you tap your fingers agitatedly against the desk. A whole ten minutes have passed since detention started and there’s still no sign of Billy.
Mr. Boswick, who you had for English Lit the previous year, is leaning back in his chair, feet up on his desk at the front of the classroom, reading a battered copy of Moby Dick. He scratches his bearded chin distractedly.
There are a handful of other students spread sparsely throughout the room, sitting a few desks apart from each other. A boy in the far left corner of the room balances on the back legs of his chair out of boredom, wobbling dangerously.
Your jaw clenches as the eleventh minute passes by, teeth grinding together in irritation. How is it fair that I’m sat in detention and Billy doesn’t even bother to show up?!
Another two minutes pass of you slowly working yourself up. You’re considering saying something to Mr. Boswick when the door finally pushes open and in swaggers Billy, with absolutely no sense of urgency.
He’s wearing his denim jacket over a loose-fitting shirt which, as always, is barely buttoned up. Your eyes go to his tanned chest, before you can stop them. You catch yourself and look away quickly in frustration, turning your head towards the row of windows lining the left-hand side of the classroom.
“Good of you to join us, Mr. Hargrove,” Mr. Boswick says uninterestedly, without even looking up from his book. “Take a seat.”
You can see your team outside on the forecourt, practising. Nancy instructs them whilst they do drills. You subconsciously start biting your bottom lip, watching as Ashley chips in, pointing out what Margo is doing wrong with her feet. Her words from earlier play in your mind.
There’s a metallic scraping sound beside you and you tear your eyes away to glance at the source; Billy, dragging a chair out from under a desk just a few along from yours. He sits down, resting his forearms on the desktop and clasping his hands together, one of his legs jittering restlessly, as if there’s somewhere important he would rather be.
He catches your gaze, moodily chanking on a wad of gum. You fight the urge to scowl over at him. There’s a cut on his bottom lip, angry and red, where the skin has been split open. Maybe someone finally got sick of him being such a dick, you think to yourself, looking away.
Mr Boswick reads to the end of his page in silence, then carefully places a bookmark inside, shutting the book and putting it down on the desk. He then stands and opens one of his desk drawers.
“Now that you’re all here, these erasers need cleaning,” he says, removing the drawer and hefting it onto the desktop, white chalk dust puffing up in a cloud as he sets it down with a thud. He coughs roughly, waving his hand around to disperse the dust.
“Come grab a couple each. You wanna beat them together, out of the window, until they’re empty of dust,” he instructs the room. “And, try not to breathe it in,” he rasps, coughing again.
Great.
You reluctantly stand up with the rest of the class and start moving towards his desk. Billy remains seated.
“That means you too,” Mr. Boswick directs at him. You see Billy’s jaw twitch, but he doesn’t say anything. After a beat, he does as instructed, coming to stand behind you as you wait in the small queue that has formed in front of the teacher’s desk. The other students take turns grabbing their erasers, then cross the room to the wall of windows you had been looking through just a few minutes ago. The sounds of windows being scraped open and erasers haphazardly bashing together fills the room.
You can feel the heat coming off Billy as he stands unnecessarily close to you, arms crossed over his chest. You can smell the spearmint of the gum he's chewing.
“Out of erasers,” you hear Mr. Boswick say, bringing your attention back to the room.
“They can have mine,” the kid in front of you says, turning to offer you his handful of dusty bricks.
Mr. Boswick shoots him a look and ushers him over to the windows with the others. The teacher then turns to you and Billy, still standing in front of his desk.
“Miss Y/L/N, Mr. Hargrove,” he addresses you both, “It would appear we need some more erasers. Go down the hall to Ms. Beacham’s room; she keeps the used ones in a couple of tubs in her supply closet. You’ve got 5 minutes, no dawdling.”
Billy looks equally as un-thrilled as you feel about the proposition. You’re considering asking if you can just go alone, but then you remember the reason you’re even in detention in the first place, and decide better of it. It might actually be the perfect chance for you to smooth things over with Billy.
Mr. Boswick senses your hesitation and gives an exasperated sigh.
“Now, please.” And, with that, the pair of you are waved from the classroom.
Once you’re alone in the corridor, you turn to face Billy.
“So…” you begin, awkwardly.
He starts walking away from you, hands buried in the denim of his jacket pockets.
“Hey, wait,” you say quickly, jogging after him. He is not going to make this easy, is he?
“Come on,” you try again, once you catch up to him, but he ignores you. “Billy, please, will you just…”
You put your hand on his bicep, tugging lightly to halt him. You try to ignore the hard muscle beneath your hand.
He huffs a sigh and comes to a stop, shooting you a look of stony indifference. His eyes flick down to the collar of your turtle neck, hiding his now mostly-faded mark, and he runs his tongue along his injured lower lip.
“If we’re going to sort this issue out with the gym schedule, you’re gonna have to talk to me…” you say.
“What issue?” comes his infuriating response, paired with a shrug of his shoulders. “Doesn’t seem to be anything wrong from where I’m standing.”
You can feel frustration rise up from the pit of your stomach and you try your hardest to shove it back down.
“We already had a system in place, Billy. You can’t just swan in and change it without warning, that’s not fair,” you try to reason.
“Life’s not fair, Princess,” he says, smirking sarcastically and continuing down the hall.
You grind your teeth together, frustratedly sighing out through your nose, before going after him again.
“Look, I know I shouldn’t have totally flipped out on you at the party, but I’ve apologised for that. I don't get why you're still mad about it.”
He’s the one to stop this time, turning to face you with an annoyed crease between his brows.
“You don’t have a fucking clue, do you?” He says, irritatedly. “It’s bad enough that everyone was talking crap about you ditching me for Harrington,” he continues, “But then you just had to keep pushing with all this bullshit about the gym. I’m on a final warning now, because of you. My dad’s fuming.”
You scoff loudly and he narrows his eyes at you.
“I think you mean it's because of you,” you say, walking forward and prodding a finger into his chest. “If you'd just stuck to your own days in the gym, rather than stealing mine, we wouldn't've gotten in this mess in the first place.”
He clenches his jaw, nostrils flaring slightly.
“And I’ve already explained about the thing with Steve,” you continue, exasperatedly. “He just gave me a lift home, literally nothing happened.” You exaggerate the last three words, hoping to drill them into his thick skull.
“Yeah, so you said,” He replies moodily, looking away.
You give an exaggerated groan, scrubbing a hand down your face.
“I didn’t think you’d be stupid enough to believe one of Carol’s bullshit lies,” you say, “But I guess I was wrong.”
You start turning away from him, with the intention of strutting off - satisfied that you’ve put him in his place - when Nancy’s words from the first day you laid eyes on Billy echo in your mind, stopping you. “It’s not like you can judge anyway, seeing as you’ve slept with half the school already.”
He exhales a sardonic sound, leaning closer to you. Your faces are so close you can smell spearmint again. Your mind short circuits for a fraction of a second, your eyes going to his mouth before you can stop them.
“What, you jealous?” he says, staring you down. He licks his bottom lip, eyes flashing with a silent challenge.
A shiver runs up your spine, but you cover it with a scoff, dragging your gaze away from him.
“You wish, Hargrove,” you say, rolling your eyes and moving to continue past him, but Billy blocks you. You glower at him.
“Come on, move,” you say, trying your best to not seem flustered.
He tuts at you in response.
“Say please,” he says, batting those infuriatingly long eyelashes at you.
You sigh frustratedly and try to shove past him.
“Come on, let's just get the tubs and get back to detention, so I can go back to pretending you don't exi-”
“Hey,” he says, suddenly stern, and grips your wrist with surprising force. It doesn’t quite hurt, but it catches you off guard.
“Billy, what are you-”
“You should show me some respect,” he says, pulling you closer to him by your wrist.
You laugh bitterly, despite the way your stomach is twisting with nerves.
“Respect is earnt,” you tell him defiantly, trying to pull your hand free of his grip.
His expression hardens for a second, his jaw tensing, then he exhales through his nose and lets go of you.
“You know what,” he says irritatedly, taking a step back, “I don’t need this shit.” He turns away from you, muttering under his breath. “You’re fucking crazy.”
Your stomach lurches at his words, pulling your shoulders tight. He starts walking away, not in the direction of the classroom, but towards the main entrance of the school.
“What did you say?” Your voice is dangerously low, a warning.
He stops and glances over his shoulder at you, alerted by the sudden change in your tone.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Princess, did I hurt your feelings?” He takes in the look on your face and turns to face you fully, his tongue darting out menacingly to lick at his bottom lip with apparent glee. “That really hit a nerve, didn’t it?” He smirks antagonistically, moving into your space again. “Is that what was wrong with you behind the bike shed? Were you having a meltdown?”
You glance around frantically, making sure no one is around to have heard him.
“Shut your fucking mouth,” you bite at him, the corners of your eyes stinging, dangerously close to tears.
Without thinking, you shove him hard in the shoulders. He stumbles backward, surprised, crashing into the row of lockers behind him. The rickety metal doors clang loudly with the impact.
“Maybe next time you should plant your feet,” you say, venom lacing your tone. The look of shock leaves his face quickly, replaced by one of utter fury.
“What’s going on out here?”
Your stomach drops at the familiar voice and you whip round to see Mr. Boswick’s head sticking out of his classroom door. The pair of you hadn’t even made it halfway to Ms. Beacham’s room as instructed and here you were, shoulders squared and posture defensive with Billy slumped against a locker. Fuck.
“Principal’s office,” Mr. Boswick says sternly. “Now.”
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Chapter 7: coming soon
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Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you think. Tagging everyone who asked to be tagged as well as anyone who interacted with the last two chapters. Please let me know if you want to be removed or added. If there is a line through your name, tagging appeared not to work.
Summary: Mini Series. Modern AU. You get a summer job working as a resort rep in Magaluf. The resident lifeguard helps make it a summer to remember.
Pairing: Lifeguard! Billy x Fem! Reader (slow-ish burn)
A/N: Wow. It has been a veeeery long wait for this chapter, sorry guys! I've had a lot going on in my personal life with my health, so haven't been active on here until recently. I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. I love how this story is shaping out! Each chapter will have a song suggestion at the start. You don’t have to listen to the song for the chapter to make sense, I just thought it might be cool to share some of the music that has inspired this series and that helps to create the vibe I wanted for this particular story. As always, feedback gives me the drive to continue writing, so if you read this please reblog and comment to let me know what you thought! Xx Y/N= Your name and Y/N/N= Your nickname.
PROLOGUE // SERIES MASTERLIST // MY MASTERLIST
Chapter warnings: Flirtatious Billy (because he needs a warning), very brief mention of previous break up.
Word count: 4,522
Please do not use or copy my work, in part or in whole. Plagiarism is a crime.
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Song suggestion: Anywhere by Rita Ora
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The same day, Heather called Brynn back to tell him the good news and, after a quick chat with you on the phone, he agreed that the job was yours.
Your parents were more than happy to cover the cost of your plane ticket, ecstatic that you would no longer be hauled up in your bedroom. You didn’t venture into town again after what happened at the mall, but with only a week to prepare for your impending trip, you were too busy packing to wallow over Nate anyway.
Luckily, you managed to book a seat on the same flight as Heather, and her dad offered to drive you both to the airport for your 16 hour journey.
When you eventually arrive in Magaluf, a driver is waiting for you at arrivals, holding up a sign with your names on it. The car takes you both through the darkened streets of Magaluf, still awake with life, despite the late hour. As you get closer to the coast, you see glimpses of the glistening ocean, winking at you under the moonlight and, even in your exhaustion from the long journey, you are glad you decided to take Heather’s advice. Some time away from Hawkins is just what you need.
When you pull up outside of the hotel, the driver unloads your cases for you. You both thank him then push your way through the doors into the reception. A welcoming, air-conditioned breeze washes over you as soon as you step inside.
There’s a large desk directly opposite the entrance, where a young woman, who you assume is around the same age as you and Heather, maybe slightly older, leans against the marble top. She slowly pushes herself up to standing and welcomes you as you enter. She’s wearing a hot pink polo shirt and has dark skin and long, dark brown hair which cascades down her back in hundreds of thinly plaited braids.
“Hi, I’m Heather, this is Y/N,” Heather announces, as you both sluggishly wheel your suitcases over to the desk. “We’re repping here over the summer, Brynn said to ask for him when we arrived.”
“Oh, hi, great to meet you. I’m Jasmine,” the girl behind the counter replies in an English accent, offering you both a warm, beautiful, smile. Her eyes linger on Heather, who returns Jasmine’s smile with one of her own. “Brynn’s not here at the moment, he had to pop out to deal with something. He said to just let you guys get some sleep after your long flight. He’ll meet you down here at 10 tomorrow morning, for your induction.” She reaches under the desk and pulls out two lanyards with laminated passes attached, as well as two pink polo shirts each and a white lifeguard’s vest for Heather. “Here are your staff IDs and uniforms.”
You both take them from her and you slide your staff ID into the pocket of your jeans.
“Your room is on the first floor,” she says, glancing down at the number on your key cards, handing them over as well, “You’re right next to me, actually,” she says with another smile, her eyes going back to Heather. “Stairs and elevators are that way,” she points round a corner just past the front desk, “and the dining hall, pool and gym are that way,” she says, pointing down the corridor behind you, next to the main entrance.
“Great, thank you,” Heather says brightly, despite the jetlag.
There’s a beat of silence, then Jasmine adds, “Oh, by the way, staff get to use the pool and gym areas an hour before guests, so from 7am. And, if you have a day off, you can use all the amenities as much as you want.”
Your ears perk up at that.
“Really? That’s great,” you say with excitement.
Jasmine leans forwards on the counter top again, as if she’s about to let you both in on a secret. “If I were you, I’d make the most of it now. Novelty wears off real quick,” she says with a laugh.
“Not for Y/N, it won’t,” Heather replies fondly, “She loves swimming, don’t you, Y/N/N? Used to do it all the time at Hawkins pool.”
“Yeah,” you wistfully agree, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips as you remember the summers spent there.
“Hawkins?” Jasmine asks with polite curiosity.
“Oh, yeah, it’s where we’re from. It’s a small town in Indiana, America,” Heather explains, tucking some loose strands of hair back behind her ear.
“Never heard of it,” comes Jasmine’s earnest reply.
Without even missing a beat, you and Heather both simultaneously say “No one has,” making yourselves and Jasmine laugh.
“Well, I won’t keep you guys any longer,” she says, tapping the desk with one hand. “It was really great to meet you,” she adds, giving you both another brilliant smile. “I’ll definitely see you around.” Her eyes meet Heather’s and you get the distinct impression that that last part was directed more at your friend, whose cheeks, coincidentally, now look a little rosier than they had before, as she smiles back.
You both say goodbye to Jasmine, then wheel your luggage in the direction of the elevators she had pointed to earlier.
“She seems nice,” you offer, once you’re sure you’re no longer in earshot of the front desk.
“Yeah,” Heather responds with a thoughtful smile, glancing back over her shoulder in the direction of the entrance, as you make your way to your room.
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The next morning, you wake early and, taking Jasmine’s advice from the previous night, you put on your swimsuit. After sliding a pair of shorts on over-top and grabbing a towel, you fight with the jeans that you had discarded on the floor yesterday, searching the pockets for your staff ID and key card.
Heather stirs as you open the door to your room, rolling over in her bed to squint at you, bleary eyed.
“You’re up early,” she says, her voice thick with sleep.
“Gonna hit the pool for a bit,” you say, gesturing with the rolled up towel you’re holding.
She smiles gently, her eyes already closed again.
“That sounds nice,” she mumbles.
You would ask if she wants to join you, but her features have already gone slack and her breathing evened out again, indicating she’s already fallen back asleep.
You chuckle fondly as she gives a small snore, and leave the room.
It’s a little after 7am when you reach the pool. It’s pleasantly warm outside already, the morning sun climbing up the side of the hotel to bid you a good day. You sigh happily to yourself, wondering if Jasmine was right and if the novelty truly will wear off.
There’s already a few white plastic sun loungers set up along the side of the pool, so you place your towel on one of them and remove your shorts and sandals, then saunter over to the small row of open shower cubicles off to the side. You quickly rinse yourself off, wetting your hair and rubbing down your arms and legs to try and get yourself used to the coldness of the water. You then wade down the wide mosaic steps leading into the pool, submerging yourself up to your shoulders then push off from the edge, gliding easily through the water to the other side. Your whole body sighs with relief as the water flows around you. The last time you went swimming would have been at the end of last summer, with Nate. He didn’t like you going to the pool alone.
You push the thought of him from your mind and try to focus on the feel of the water instead, swimming a few laps. When you return to the edge of the pool for a breather, a movement catches your eye. A guy dressed in a white vest with red trim around the arms and neck, and a pair of red shorts, is walking over to the pool area, carrying a stack of three sun loungers in his muscular arms, as if they weigh nothing.
You watch him with intrigue, keeping low in the water, so he doesn’t see you hidden behind the lip of the pool. He is tanned, with shoulder-length dark blonde hair, which sits in messy curls around his broad shoulders, and a whistle hanging around his neck. You assume he must be the resort lifeguard Heather had been telling you about.
He carries the loungers around a bed of tall landscaped bushes, into another section of the sunbathing area, out of view.
You resume swimming laps of the pool. After a short while your muscles begin to ache again, so you decide to lay on your back instead and float peacefully on the water. You’ll have to build your stamina back up again.
After a moment of staring up at the cloudless blue sky, you slowly close your eyes and just let the water hold you.
After a little while of floating silently, you hear a shrill noise, which prompts you to open your eyes, tilting your chin awkwardly to look around for the source.
You see the lifeguard from before, standing nearer the pool, with a new stack of sun loungers abandoned at his feet, lowering his whistle from his lips.
“Oh shit,” you mutter as you right yourself quickly. You can see his lips are moving, but you can’t hear what he’s saying with all the water that’s still in your ears. You shake your head to try and clear them and swim over to the pool’s edge, an apology already on your lips. He probably thinks you’re just another holiday maker who can’t read the sign with the pool opening times on it. He walks around the discarded loungers and starts heading in your direction.
“Sorry, what did you say?” you ask, staring bashfully up at him through your wet eyelashes, as you cling to the tiled edge of the pool.
He lowers his dark sunglasses to get a better look at you, smirking as he does.
“Was just checking you were alive,” he says, amused, “You okay?”
“Oh. Er, yeah, I’m fine,” you reply, feeling silly. “Didn’t mean to alarm you.”
“I was ready to give you mouth to mouth,” he jokes. Licks his lips as he stares over the top of his glasses at you. “I haven’t seen you around before. It’s not every day I get to meet a fellow American around here, you just arrived?”
He crouches down next to the pool.
Now that you’re seeing him up close, you notice that he has a thin moustache on his upper lip. It’s also impossible not to notice how attractive he is, with his defined jaw and penetrating ocean blue eyes.
“Yeah, I got here last night,” you say, urging yourself not to stare at him. You focus your eyes on the palm tree behind him in the distance instead.
“You got a name, sugar?” he asks smoothly, chewing on the wad of gum in his mouth. His boldness catches you off guard and you blink at him for a moment before answering with your name.
“It’s nice to meet you, Y/N. I’m Billy,” he takes off his sunglasses and offers you a tanned hand, which you take, reaching up over the edge of the pool. His grip is firm, but not overpowering, as he clasps your hand in both of his. He holds your gaze a second longer than what feels comfortable, and you look away, biting shyly on your bottom lip as you withdraw your hand.
“And how long are you here for?” he asks.
“The whole summer, actually. I’m one of the new reps,” you explain, tucking a stray strand of wet hair back behind your ear.
“Really?” he comments, interestedly. “Well, I look forward to working very closely with you.” He gives you a lazy kind of grin.
You wonder what Nate would think about you talking with Billy.
You notice a movement behind him, back by the entrance to the pool area, as a man appears and calls Billy over to him.
The lifeguard glances over his shoulder at the sound, then turns back to you with a sigh.
“Duty calls,” he says, standing up straight. “I’ll catch you later,” he adds with a wink, then pops his sunglasses back on and turns to walk with a leisurely pace towards the other man.
As he leaves, you let out an amused huff of air.
‘Is he for real?’ You think to yourself.
You can’t help but peer curiously over the edge of the pool after him, as he makes his way inside.
After swimming another few laps, you decide it’s time to head back to your room to get ready for your induction and make sure Heather is awake.
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Once you’re showered and both dressed in your new bright pink polo shirts, you and Heather make your way to the reception area, to meet Brynn and the other new reps.
“Hello and welcome to Magaluf!” a man, probably in his late twenties, greets the group. You recognise him as the same man who had called Billy away earlier this morning. He has a round, friendly face and manicured dark hair that’s been meticulously spiked with gel. He’s wearing a bright pink polo shirt, to match the rest of you, and dark blue cargo shorts. “As most of you will know, I’m the Head Rep, Brynn,” he says enthusiastically, in his thick Welsh accent.
He gets each of you to introduce yourselves to the group by saying your name and a few facts about yourselves, like where you’re from and what your hobbies are. There are four new reps in total: you, Heather, a petite blonde from England called Jess, who announces that she loves dogs, and a tall asian guy, also from England, named Craig, whose passions include working out and writing music.
“Hi, I’m Heather,” she introduces herself with a small wave, “I’m from a small town in Indiana, that’s in America, and I love the colour pink!” she laughs, gesturing to her uniform. Brynn makes a joke about them choosing the colour especially for her.
When it’s your turn, you face the rest of the group and tell them that you’re from the same town as Heather, and that you’re best friends. You also add that you only accepted the job just over a week ago and you’re excited to see what the Summer brings.
“Well, we’re very glad to have you on board,” Brynn remarks, smiling warmly at you.
He then gives you all a tour of the resort, pointing out fire exits and going over the ‘house rules,’ as he calls them:
1- No sleeping with guests.
2- No guests can go back to staff rooms.
3- When on nights out with guests, you can drink, but not excessively.
4- Any poor behaviour will result in a drinking ban and restriction to resort-only activities.
It seems weird to you that there’s a specific rule about not sleeping with the guests; as if anyone would need to tell you not to do that. It also surprises you that they would allow drinking alcohol at all whilst you’re on duty, but then again you would be spending a lot of time in the clubs so you suppose it would make sense.
As your little group passes the pool, you glance over to see Billy manning the lifeguard’s chair. He lowers his tinted sunglasses a fraction, to watch as you walk past, his expression stoic.
Brynn then gives you all training on how to check guests in and explains that they get a complimentary drink on arrival, which is taken to their room, along with their itinerary for the duration of their stay.
When it reaches the end of your first day of training, Brynn gathers you all in the foyer again.
“Heather,” he addresses her, “I’d like you to start at 7am tomorrow, please. Billy will meet you by the pool to show you lifeguard duties and you’ll finish at 3pm. Everyone else,” he says, turning to the rest of you, ”if you could please meet me in the bar at 10am where we’ll be going over the different drinks we offer and how to make them. And tomorrow night,” he continues, enthusiastically, “I figured we could all go out and see the clubs you’ll be taking the guests to. Maybe have some drinks and get to know each other a bit better.”
“It’s not compulsory,” he adds, seeing the concerned look on your face, “but it would definitely be beneficial for you all to be there.”
After you’re dismissed, you and Heather make your way to the dining hall for some dinner, then turn in early.
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The next morning, Heather reluctantly gets up and ready in time to head to the pool for 7am. You tag along, dressed in your swimming costume and jean shorts, hoping Billy won’t mind you using the pool again.
When you arrive, he’s already outside, a cigarette pursed between his lips. He stubs it out when he spots you both and fishes a pack of gum out of his pocket, popping a strip into his mouth.
“Mornin’ ladies,” he greets you.
Heather responds with a grunt, adjusting her sunglasses to better protect from the bright morning sun. “Yeah, I’m Heather,” she says curtly, not awake enough for pleasantries yet, then gestures to you “and this is-”
“Y/N,” he cuts her off. “We’ve already met.” He gives you a cocky smile.
“Really?” Heather raises an eyebrow at you, because you hadn’t mentioned him to her.
“Yeah, yesterday morning,” you say offhandedly. “I’m going to get some juice, you guys want anything?” you add, changing the subject.
“Iced coffee! Please,” Heather all but begs you.
“Got it.” You glance at Billy, “You want anything?”
He chews on his gum for a second, surveying you with a smirk, then replies, “I’m good.”
You turn around and head back inside to grab the drinks from the dining hall. It’s pretty quiet in there, just a few holiday makers and some staff members having their breakfast. Brynn explained yesterday that the busy season hadn’t properly started yet, and that it wouldn’t be packed out for a couple of weeks. You make polite small talk with one of the wait staff as you grab the drinks, flashing your staff pass, then head back out to the pool.
Heather is lugging sun loungers out onto the paving area one by one, already working up a sweat. You motion at her, showing where you placed her drink, then mosey over to the edge of the pool. You deposit your towel and drink, then climb out of your shorts and shower down, just like you had yesterday.
Billy walks by carrying a stack of sun loungers. His eyes are hidden by his tinted sunglasses, but you can feel him watching you as you carefully descend the steps of the pool.
You swim laps for a little while with Billy walking back and forth, placing sun loungers around you. Heather, you notice, is busy taking her loungers to the area past the tall landscaped bushes, stopping every now and then to have a sip of her coffee and to blow her sweaty fringe out of her eyes.
When you take a moment to rest at the edge of the water, Billy finishes up with his latest stack and sits down on one of the loungers closest to you.
“I guess I’ll see you at the staff drinks tonight?” he asks, chewing on his gum and reclining on the lounger.
“Yeah, maybe,” you respond, noncommittally, shielding your eyes with a hand above your brow, as you squint up at him.
“Maybe?” he repeats, his tone surprised. “You got some place else to be?” He asks with a smirk.
You huff a quiet laugh, “No, I just… I’m not really into the whole ‘party scene’,” you say, leaning back against the wall of the pool and kicking your legs leisurely through the water in front of you.
“I hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but you’re in the wrong job,” he laughs.
“Yeah…,” you agree, amusedly. There’s a beat of silence, as you gaze off into the distance. You can see the beach from here.
“So how come you took a repping job in the party capital of the world?” he asks. It catches you off guard.
You open your mouth and close it again, frowning.
“It’s… complicated,” you say, for lack of a better answer.
“Ooh, mysterious.” His response makes you chuckle, despite yourself.
At the same moment, Heather rounds the corner, holding her iced coffee to her forehead in an attempt to cool herself down.
“All done, Billy,” she says, then stops, seeing you still laughing at Billy’s remark. She slowly lowers the glass from her head. “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt,” she says, fixing you with a smirk.
“You’re not interrupting,” you respond quickly, giving your head a little shake. “I was just distracting Billy from his work,” you add, starting to move away from the edge of the pool. “I’ll let you get back to it,” you throw them an apologetic smile then push off the wall with your feet and glide through the water, to the other side of the pool.
You continue swimming laps as Billy stands and leads Heather over to the Lifeguard’s station. He glances back at you as they pass by, licking his lower lip in thought, but you keep your gaze focused straight ahead.
After a little while, you decide it’s time to head back inside and get ready for your second day of training. Exiting the pool, you pad over to your belongings, dripping a trail of water onto the sun-warmed tiles beneath your feet. You wrap your towel around yourself and secure it at the top, then make your way over to the Lifeguard’s station, taking slow, refreshing sips of your drink.
Billy and Heather both look up as you approach.
“I’m gonna head back up to the room,” you tell them, gesturing over your shoulder to the building. Billy looks at you over the top of his sunglasses, his eyes tracing the length of your bare collarbone. You pretend not to notice the way his gaze makes your stomach flip just a little.
“Ok, I’ll see you later,” Heather replies.
“Have a good day,” you add, giving them a small wave before turning and making your way inside.
Once back in your room you have a shower and dress in your uniform, then head to the dining hall for some breakfast. You take a seat at a table with Jess and Craig, the other two new reps who you met yesterday, chatting casually about how training is going, whilst you eat and drink coffee. Glancing out of the wall of windows that looks out onto the pool area, you see Heather and Billy manning the Lifeguard’s station, watching over the handful of guests who are already in the water.
—----
When you return to your room after your shift finishes, you find Heather laying on her bed reading a book, already changed out of her work uniform.
“Hey,” she greets you, slotting her bookmark between the pages and placing the book down on her bedside table. “How was training?”
“Ugh, long! I don’t know how I’ll ever remember all the different drinks,” you complain, slipping out of your shoes.
“I’m sure you’ll get it with some practice,” she reassures you, “Luckily, we shouldn’t have to cover the bar that often anyway.”
You hum in agreement, making your way over to your chest of drawers to find a fresh top to wear.
“Hey, so guess who was asking after you today?”
You glance over your shoulder at her. You already know the answer.
“Billy,” she says excitedly.
“Heather,” you warn her, rummaging through your T-shirts, “It’s not going to happen.”
She scoffs loudly at you and you shoot her a pointed look.
“What?” she asks, feigning innocence.
You turn around to face her properly.
“You know what. I’m not ready for anything right now, it’s too soon.”
“For God’s sake, Y/N/N,” she says exasperatedly, rolling her eyes at you, “It’s not like I said he’s thinking of marriage! He was showing an interest is all. You know, could be fun,” She smirks, pumping her eyebrows suggestively.
You scoff and shake your head disbelievingly at her, turning back to grab a clean t-shirt out of the drawer.
“Ok, well, whilst you’re living in Fantasy Land,” you say, taking off your work polo, and pulling your t-shirt on over your head, “I’ll be in the dining hall, having dinner.”
Heather rolls her eyes at you again, but thankfully drops the subject.
—----
Later that evening, you come out of yours and Heather’s shared bathroom after having a shower, wearing sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt.
“You should hurry up and get changed,” Heather says, glancing at you in the reflection of the mirror as she fixes her hair. The bedroom smells of perfume and hairspray.
“I actually think I’m going to sta-” you begin.
“Oh no you don’t,” Heather cuts you off, pointing at you sternly in the mirror. “We came here to have fun,” she says, emphasising the last word. “Please, try to remember what that feels like.”
You scoff at her.
“I know how to have fun, thank you very much. I, just…” you trail off, shrugging.
Heather turns sharply to face you, curling iron still in hand.
“Brynn did say it wasn’t compulsory,” you offer up as a weak defence.
“Look, I am not leaving you here, to sulk alone, in a hotel room. So, Go. Get. Dressed,” she orders, ushering you towards the closet with each word. “And make it sexy,” she adds, winking playfully at you from across the room. You shake your head, laughing at her boldness, and turn to select an outfit.
Summary: Mini-series. Y/N is the captain of the female basketball team at Hawkins High. She clashes with the new captain of the male team when he keeps booking out the gym, leaving the girls with nowhere to practice
Pairing: Billy Hargrove x Fem! Reader
Masterlist // Series Masterlist // Chapter Four
A/N: Well. It’s been about 2 years since I last worked on this fic. Finally, it’s here: Chapter 5. I sure hope it was worth the wait lol Not much Billy in this one, but there will be plenty of him in the next one, I promise ;)
Prompt: Enemies to Lovers trope
Please do not steal/ copy my work, in part or in whole. Plagiarism is a crime!
Chapter warnings: Swearing, Billy being an ass, I think that’s it.
Word count: 3,889
---------------------------------
The following morning, when your alarm wakes you, you drag yourself reluctantly from your bed and dress clumsily, fumbling around your room in the half light.
Still wedging your feet into your shoes, you gather up your bag and denim jacket and head for your door. You go to the toilet and brush your teeth, then head back into the hallway, pausing in front of your sister’s room.
You rest your forehead against her door to say your goodbye but, before any words can leave your mouth, your mum’s bedroom door creaks open at the end of the corridor. You jerk away from the wood, praying she didn’t see.
“I thought I heard you up and about,” she says, stifling a yawn.
You fidget under her gaze and softly clear your throat.
“Er, yeah, I’m just about to head out,” you say, hoisting your bag strap onto your shoulder.
“Already?” she asks, scratching her head sleepily.
“Yeah, I’m meeting Heather before class so we can add some finishing touches to our English assignment. It’s due today,” you lie.
“Alright. Well I won’t be back from work when you get home, I’m on a late shift today,” she says as she heads slowly towards you, tying her dressing gown around her waist haphazardly.
“Ok.”
You’re waiting for her to pass you, so that you can continue saying goodbye to your sister, but she ushers you along with her towards the kitchen. You glance back at your sister’s door from the corner of your eye. See you later, you think loudly at it.
Once you’re in the kitchen, you immediately make for the back door, shrugging into your jacket.
“You’re not going to have any breakfast?” she asks you, fumbling to get a mug out of the cupboard, for coffee.
You pause in your movements and look pointedly at her.
“I’m not hungry,” You say as you finish putting on your jacket with a flourish, then open the back door.
“Ok, well drive safe,” she says after you, oblivious that you’re trying to throw her own words from last night back at her.
“Yeah,” you say shortly, then shut the door behind you.
Once you’re in your car, you open up the glove compartment and take out the library card you’d stolen yesterday. You stash it in the pocket of your denim jacket so you won’t forget it, then set off for school.
---
Amber is sitting at her desk, liberally applying eyeshadow, when you waltz into the school office.
She starts when she sees you, shutting the small compact mirror she was using and placing it down. She hurriedly rearranges the paperwork on the desk in front of her.
“What are you doing here so early?” she asks, taken aback.
“Good morning Amber, I’m here to book out the gym,” you say smugly, smiling brightly at her from the other side of her desk.
She clears her throat and picks up the compact again, flipping it open to check her makeup.
“Well, hate to tell you this, but it’s booked already,” she says, blending out her eyeshadow with a finger. Avoids looking at you.
You hum a laugh and she glances at you over the top of the compact, surprised by your reaction.
“Look, you can drop the act, Amber. I know you’ve been booking the gym out for Billy.” She opens her mouth to hurriedly protest, but you continue, “And I also know, I’m the only student here right now. So, there’s no way he could have booked it out yet, unless you’re helping him.”
“That’s ridiculous,” she says, laughing it off. Starts packing away her makeup.
You raise an eyebrow at her.
“Alright,” you say with a shrug. “Then show me the booking sheet.” You can see the corner of the clipboard that usually has the bookings sheet on it, half buried in the paperwork on her desk.
She irritatedly shoves the eyeshadow palette back into her makeup bag and roughly zips it up.
“No. I don’t need to prove anything to you,” she says stubbornly, putting her glasses back on and standing up from the desk. “I told you it’s been booked already.”
“What’s wrong? Did you not get round to signing it yet?” you ask cockily.
She huffs, marching towards the door and opening it wide.
“Come on, get out. Some of us have more important things to do,” she says, trying to usher you out of the office.
“I want to speak to the Principal,” you say, not moving from the spot.
She gives you a fake smile.
“Oh, I’m sorry, he’s not in yet,” she says patronisingly. “Looks like you’ll have to come back later.”
You narrow your eyes at her, suspicious that she’s lying. You glance at the clock on the wall above her desk. You still have to inquire about the middle school gym and time is ticking away.
You change tactics.
“Amber, please,” you say pleadingly. “Why are you helping him? Is he bribing you?” She averts her eyes to the floor and you get the feeling you’re on the right track. “Whatever he’s giving you, I’ll match it, no, double it,” you say, throwing caution to the wind.
She sighs.
“You need to leave.”
You fold your arms over your chest stubbornly.
“Don’t make me call security,” she says.
You glance at the clock again.
“Fine! I’m going,” you say, sweeping past her in the doorway. You turn to face her once you’re out in the hall. “But I’ll be back later!”
She shuts the door in your face.
You glower at the frosted glass panelling, clenching your hands into fists at your sides. Your grazed knuckles ache in complaint.
You head towards the main doors of the school and pass by the counsellor's office. You hear Mr. Kaminsky’s words from last week, echoing around your head. See the image of the date on your calendar, marked with a heart.
You pause mid-step, hesitating, then slowly retrace a few steps back, until you’re standing directly in front of the door. You stare at the handle, chewing hard on your bottom lip.
The front doors open, making you jump, and a random student enters the hall. The start of the school day is drawing closer.
You continue walking quickly, with your head down, and leave the building.
---
Unfortunately, Margo’s idea of booking out the Middle School gym was a bust. It was already fully booked. You had known it was a long shot but nonetheless, you were still disappointed to hear that it was another option thoroughly crossed off the list.
As you’re leaving the Middle School building, you hear a noise quickly approaching and look up to see where it’s coming from.
A girl with flowing ginger hair, riding a skateboard, is weaving down the path towards you. She’s frowning gently in concentration, eyes on the ground ahead of her. She stops when she gets to the end of the path, stepping off the skateboard and tapping the back of it with her foot so that it flips up to meet her hand.
“Hey, nice wheels,” you say, approaching the path. You’d never seen a girl riding a skateboard before, not in Hawkins.
She looks up at you.
“Thanks,” she says. Her face suddenly breaks into a big grin and she stops in her tracks. “Hey, I know you! You’re the captain of the basketball team, right?”
You stop walking as well, amazed she recognises you, and huff out a small laugh.
“Yeah, I am. How do you know that?” you ask her.
“I love basketball. I can’t wait until I’m old enough to try out!” she tells you excitedly. “My brother is on the guy’s team, but he never wants to teach me anything,” she adds sulkily.
“Your brother’s on the team?” You wonder if you know him. “What’s your name?”
“Max. ...Maxine,” she corrects herself. “Maxine Mayfield.”
You don’t recognise the surname but, to be fair, you don’t really know many of the guys on the team by name, apart from Tommy and Billy.
“Well, Max, how ‘bout you pop by and watch us practice sometime? The team and I would be happy to give you some pointers.”
“Really?” she asks, in awe. You nod and she beams at you. “That would be awesome, thanks!”
“We’ll either be on the forecourt,” you gesture with your hand in the direction she’d just come from, “or in the gym of the high school, Tuesdays and Thursdays usually.” Hopefully, anyway, you add to yourself.
You spot a familiar head of curly, dark blonde hair swaggering up the path to the high school, over Max’s shoulder.
“Er, sorry, I gotta go,” you say quickly, but not wanting to be rude, you add, “Nice to meet you Max!”
“You too,” she says, as you hurry off in the direction of the high school.
“Hey, Hargrove,” you say, marching up to him. “You just got here?”
He looks up, finishing a cigarette. Narrows his eyes when he realises it’s you.
“Yeah, what does it look like?” He stops walking, and flicks the end of his cigarette onto the ground, crushing it beneath his boot.
You grit your teeth at his obnoxious tone. I can’t believe I kissed this guy.
“There something I can help you with, Princess?” he asks amusedly, leaning in with a grin and, as if he had heard your thoughts, tugs gently at the silk scarf tied around your neck.
You slap his hand away, scowling.
“Yes, actually,” you say, grabbing hold of his arm and starting to drag him towards the High School.
“Hey, what the Hell?” he says indignantly, half-heartedly trying to stop you.
You pull him through the main doors, past the crowds of students just arriving, and push him ahead of you into the office. You ignore the looks you get.
Amber stands quickly from her desk when he enters. She smoothes down her skirt and fixes her hair.
“Oh, hey Billy,” she says in a simpering voice. Bats her eyelashes at him. “Wasn’t expecting to see you today. You come to arrange our date?” She halts when she spots you, standing in the doorway behind him. Her face drops, cheeks turning beet red. So that’s why she’s been helping him.
“Why did you drag me in here?” Billy asks disgruntledly, smoothing out the arm of his jacket where you’d grabbed him.
You purposefully ignore him and turn your attention to Amber.
“Billy here just arrived,” you say to her, not even trying to conceal your smugness. “Which is funny, because I’m pretty sure you said he’d already booked out the gym this morning. And how can that be, if he wasn’t here yet?” You turn to Billy, “Admit it, you’ve been playing dirty. It’s ‘game over,’ Hargrove.” You fix him with a level gaze. I win.
He huffs a laugh.
“You have no proof,” he says cooly. Totally unphased.
“Actually, I do,” you correct him, “And I’m sure Principal Davies will be fascinated to hear all about it,” you say loudly, turning towards the Principal’s closed office door, hoping he’s arrived by now and that he’ll hear you.
Amber tries to shush you, but stops abruptly as the door to the Principal’s office opens. She looks nervous.
“What’s going on out here?” Principal Davies’ broad frame fills the doorway of his office.
You and Amber both start talking over each other.
“OK, stop,” the Principal says, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. You both fall silent. “Amber,” he addresses the receptionist, gesturing with his hand for her to speak.
“Y/N is in here harassing me about booking out the gym for tomorrow, when I’ve already told her that it’s been booked by the boys’ basketball team,” she explains in her nasally voice.
“Yeah, only because you’ve been signing the booking sheet for them, which is against the rules,” you snap back in irritation.
The Principal’s dark brown eyes are drawn by something moving behind you.
“Going somewhere, Mr. Hargrove?”
Billy, who had apparently decided there was no reason for him to stay, pauses with his hand on the door.
“Why is it, whenever there is trouble,” The Principal adds, “You are somehow involved?”
Billy turns back to look at Principal Davies with a shrug.
“It’s a gift,” he quips. You bite back a laugh. Don’t encourage him.
“Alright, in my office,” Principal Davies says irritatedly. “Both of you,” he adds, fixing you with a look you dare not argue with.
Once you are inside his office, he closes the door and sits down at his large mahogany desk.
“Miss Y/L/N, do you want to start by explaining to me why you were raising your voice at my secretary?”
“My team has been stuck practising on the forecourt for the past two weeks, in the freezing cold, all because Amber has been booking out the gym for the boys’ team.”
In all honesty, you had been expecting Principal Davies to take your side or, at the very least, thank you for bringing this injustice to his attention. What you get instead is a look of impatience.
“I am far too busy to be settling petty disputes and I’m not interested in silly rumours.”
“But this is fact. I can prove it,” you say hurriedly, pulling the crumpled card from your pocket. “This is a checking-out card from the library, with Billy’s handwriting on it. And, if you check the booking sheets for the past couple of weeks, you’ll see that the handwriting doesn’t match.”
Billy, who until now had been scowling out of the window, chewing on his thumb nail, turns his gaze to the library card as you place it on the Principal’s desk.
“How did you get that?” Principal Davies asks you, sternly.
You falter. Oh fuck. You realise now that presenting evidence that you had stolen school property, to the Principal no less, might not have been the brightest idea.
“The point is,” you continue, trying to gloss over his question, “the current booking system no longer works. We need to find a fairer way,” you conclude.
The Principal considers your words for a moment. You notice from the corner of your eye that Billy is looking at you. You ignore him and keep facing forward.
“Right, this is what’s going to happen,” Principal Davies says, “You’re both going to agree on a solution together, like adults, and stop wasting my time. You’ll both have detention after school tomorrow,” you both begin to protest, but he continues over you, “that should give you the perfect opportunity to sort this issue out and I expect there to be no more problems.”
“But sir, it’s basketball practice tomorrow and, with playoffs coming up, I really can’t afford to miss any sessions,” you complain.
“Well then, that’s even more incentive for you to resolve the issue quickly, wouldn’t you agree?” Principal Davies says.
Billy clenches his jaw in brooding silence.
“Sir, please, I-” you try to reason, but the Principal cuts you off.
“Stealing school property is not something I would have expected from you,” he says in his deep baritone.
You cast your eyes to the faded carpet in silence.
The Principal stands.
“Mr. Hargrove,” he says to Billy, “You can go.” He walks over and opens the door, gesturing for Billy to go through it. “But,” he adds, before the teen can disappear, “I expect you to actually attend detention this time. Final warning.” He fixes Billy with a look, which he largely ignores as he leaves the Principal’s office.
Wondering why he didn’t dismiss you as well, you turn to look at Principal Davies over your shoulder as he closes the door again.
“Y/N,” he says concernedly, walking back round to sit at his desk. “I understand there have been some concerns regarding your grades.” You don’t meet his eyes, guilty.
“You’re normally an excellent student. This kind of behaviour isn’t like you,” he says, gesturing at the library card on his desk. “Don’t let others pull you down to their level by distracting you from your work.”
“Yes, sir,” you say quietly.
“And make sure that this-” he adds, picking the up the library card and handing it to you, “sees its way back to the library.”
“Yes, sir.”
He dismisses you and you leave his office, feeling foolish for having gotten so caught up in trying to catch Billy out.
Your plan seriously backfired. Now your mum will probably be informed of your detention and you somehow have to break it to your team that you’ll be missing tomorrow’s practice. The thought alone makes you feel sick.
Luckily, Billy is already gone when you reenter the reception area. Amber is sitting back at her desk, disinterestedly listening to a student explain that he’ll be absent Friday morning for a dentist appointment. You scowl at her over the boy’s shoulder as you pass, but she pretends not to see you.
---
The corridor is buzzing with students. You flow naturally with the current, until you reach your locker. Nancy is stood beside it, her head buried in her own as she grabs her textbooks for the day. She’s wearing a fuzzy, white turtleneck jumper and her hair is still damp, presumably from her morning shower.
“Hey,” you say, stopping next to her.
“Hi,” she says happily, offering you a smile. “How are you?”
“Ughh, been better. I got detention tomorrow after school-”
Her jaw drops. She stops shoving a book into her bag to look at you.
“But we have practice tomorrow after school!”
“I know, I’m sorry. It’s Billy’s fault,” you grumble, pulling a book from your locker and sliding it into your messenger bag. “Do you think you could lead the session tomorrow?” you ask, glancing at her out of the corner of your eye.
She scoffs in disbelief.
“You’re joking? Why don’t you ask one of the other girls to do it?” She zips up her rucksack and hoists the straps onto her shoulders. “Hey, what about Ashley?”
You shut your locker and look at her.
“Ok, now you must be joking. I’d never hear the end of it.”
She hesitates. “I dunno…”
“Please, Nancy. It needs to be someone I can trust. Please?” You stick your bottom lip out, pouting at her, and make your best puppy-dog-eyes.
“OK, fine,” she says with a huff, rolling her eyes at you. “I’ll do it.”
“Thank you!” you cheer, pulling her into a hug. “You’re a lifesaver.”
“I know,” she laughs into your shoulder.
The sound of the school bell rings through the hallway and the groups of chatting students start to disperse. You both pull out of the hug.
“I actually had another favour to ask you…” You glance at Nancy sheepishly, chewing your lip.
“Oh yeah?” She looks at you expectantly.
“Would you mind breaking the news to the team at lunch today?”
Her face drops.
“Come on, Y/N- don’t you think, as Captain, they should probably hear it from you?”
“I know, Nance, and I wouldn’t usually ask, but I’m swamped with homework and I need to hit the library over lunch, otherwise I’ll never get it finished.” The lie rolls off your tongue with surprising ease. In reality, you don’t think you can handle having to tell them, after everything you’ve already been through today.
Nancy looks like she wants to say no, and you half expect her to, but then she gives a sigh, shutting her locker.
“Alright, I’ll do this for you,” she says seriously. “But you owe me,” she quickly adds, pointing a finger at you and narrowing her doe-like eyes.
“Of course,” you say, putting your hands up in surrender. “Anytime. You name it.”
“I’ll hold you to that. Now come on, or we’re gonna be late. And you don’t need any more blemishes on your record,” she says with a laugh, turning you around by your shoulders and leading the way to class.
---
You manage to avoid your team over lunch, hiding yourself away in the library and trying to make good on the lie you told Nancy. You attempt to cram in some revision for your Chemistry test next week, until your brain feels heavy. The rest of the day drags after that.
When the bell rings to signify the end of the day, you all but skip out of the doors, glad to be done with it. You can’t wait to get home and have some much needed time on your own.
As you unlock your front door and step over the threshold, there’s the crisp crunch of envelopes under foot. You look down to see that you’re standing on the mail that’s waiting for you on the floor of the hallway. You bend down to pick up the letters and walk down the hall to the kitchen, flicking through them.
Your hands pause over one. There’s neat, curling handwriting on it, which you instantly recognise as Amber’s. You flip it over to see your school’s address stamped onto the back of the envelope. It must be to notify your mum of the detention.
Amber must have loved writing this, you think to yourself. You wonder if Billy had received one too, and what his parents would think. You don’t know anything about his parents. If he lives with his mum and dad, or if he has any siblings, even. You shake your head, trying to clear all thoughts of Billy from your mind.
You discard the rest of the letters on the kitchen table, then walk back through the hall to your sister’s door, still holding the one from your school. You throw your bag through your open bedroom door and onto your bed, where it bounces and slips off onto the floor with a thud. You sigh and turn round to face your sister’s bedroom door which, unlike yours, is closed. You lean your forehead against the wood and close your eyes.
“Hey,” you say softly, “I’m back.” As always, you feel like a small weight has been lifted.
You sit down on the carpeted floor of the hallway, facing her door, and cross your legs. You hold the letter up, showing it off.
“I know,” you say, “Ma’s going to kill me.” You drop the letter onto the floor in front of you. “Although, that might not be such a bad thing,” you mumble sarcastically to yourself. You grimace at what you just said and glance up at the door apologetically. “Sorry,”
You close your eyes and let out a long sigh. Opening them again, you drag a hand down your face.
“Although…” you say, looking down at the letter through your parted fingers, as a thought occurs to you. Your detention will be at the exact time you would normally have basketball practice.
You pick the letter up in both hands, chewing your bottom lip. Your eyes flick up to your sister’s door.
“Well, I can’t do it with you staring at me,” you say, standing up from your spot on the floor and going into your bedroom, closing the door behind you. You kick your school bag across the floor, out of the way, and sit on the edge of your bed, contemplating if this is the right thing to do.
It’ll be better this way, you think to yourself. Mum will never have to know.
Pairing: Billy Hargrove x Fem! Reader (first person narrative)
Summary: A Billy Hargrove imagine based on my experience of having Alopecia.
Warnings: Hair loss and the issues that come with it. There will be swearing, talk of negative self-image, brief non-graphic mention of needles (for the purpose of steroid injections which are given to try and stimulate hair regrowth), angst, fluff and Billy being very impulsive.
A/N: I was having a bad day and this is something that just came out. I understand this may not be for everyone but I feel Alopecia (hair loss) is something that a lot of people have but never talk about, so I still wanted to post this even if no one reads it. If you do read it, please let me know what you think! P.S. there's a little gift from me to you at the end ;)
Disclaimer: I acknowledge that not everyone will experience or be affected by Alopecia in the same ways, so please note that this is purely based on my own experience of having it. Please do not steal or copy my work in part or in whole.
Word count: 2,137
----------------
“Stupid, fucking…” I grumbled frustratedly, around a mouthful of bobby pins, adjusting the small floral scarf I’d put in my hair to try and cover the back of my head.
I had been standing in front of the bathroom mirror for about fifteen minutes, attempting to put my hair up for work.
Billy came into the room, smiling that lopsided grin of his; swaggered up behind me and placed his hands on my hips. He dipped his head to kiss the side of my neck, blonde curls tickling my shoulder. He hummed against my skin as I continued jamming pins into my hair.
His eyes caught mine in the mirror, seemed to gauge my mood, then flicked up to the scarf in my hair.
“This is nice,” he said, tugging gently at the bow I’d tied clumsily at the front of the scarf.
“Don’t pull it, you’ll mess it up,” I snapped, jerking away from him. It came out a lot harsher than I’d meant it to.
He dropped his hand, frowning.
I sighed, placing the unused bobby pins down on the side of the sink, and turned to him.
“Sorry, I just can’t get it to sit right. It’s pissing me off,” I said, gesturing at the back of my head frustratedly.
He smirked at that.
“Never would have guessed,” he teased. His smile dropped again when he saw the obvious lack of amusement on my face.
I untied the scarf and started yanking it from my hair; grasping at the pins I had so carefully placed, removing them one by one. I scattered them carelessly onto the rim of the sink with the others. One slid into the basin, stopping at the edge of the plughole where it balanced precariously.
Billy’s hands came up to rest over mine, stilling them. He turned me to him.
“Hey,” he said. My eyes had fallen to the tiled floor, so he gently placed one hand under my chin, tilting my face until I was looking at him again. “You look beautiful.”
I considered his words for a moment.
“Well, I don’t feel it,” I said, pulling away from him.
Billy’s jaw tensed. He didn’t say anything.
“Don’t know why they insist on hair up anyway,” I grumbled, turning back to face the mirror again.
I turned my head to the side, taking in the state of my hair without the scarf covering it.
A large section behind my left ear was almost completely bald, save for a few strands here and there. My fingers poked at the skin, which felt smooth and waxy to the touch.
There was a large patch behind my right ear too, which extended round to the back of my head and one final area at the back, towards the middle, which was clearly visible with my hair up.
Unfortunately, with my work having a ‘hair up’ policy for female staff, it meant I couldn’t just hide it under the rest of my hair or throw on my favourite beanie hat, like I usually would when I wasn’t working.
It was getting harder and harder to disguise it, the more my hair fell out. The patches were gradually getting bigger and, according to my dermatologist, could get a whole lot worse before they started getting better.
I picked up the hand-held shaving mirror that was sat at the back of the sink and held it out behind me, angling it so that I could see the back of my head reflected in the larger mirror in front of me.
Billy leaned up against the wall, watching me with a crease in his brow. Chewed on the inside of his cheek as I inspected the patches of scalp.
“Any regrowth?” he eventually asked.
I sighed.
“No.” I tried not to sound too disappointed. It was probably too soon to tell anyway.
My last visit to the dermatologist had been a few days prior, for my final round of steroid injections. If it didn’t work this time, that was it; I’d just have to wait for the hair to grow back on it’s own, which could take anything up to two years. If it was even going to grow back at all, that is.
Billy had gone with me, of course. Had sat quietly in the corner, trying to maintain his supportive role as best he could, as he’d watched the discomfort on my face; powerless to help me. Had held me afterwards as I’d cried into the shoulder of his leather jacket.
My eyes were starting to sting now as I stared at the ugly patches of visible flesh.
I generally tried not to brood about it too often, but sometimes it was hard not to be outwardly fed up; especially after enduring the unpleasant ordeal that was having numerous injections straight to the scalp, only for them to not work.
Billy pushed away from the wall and stood behind me again. He prised the mirror from my hand.
“Come on, you better finish getting ready for work,” he said. He paused, then added, “Unless you wanna call in sick? We can order some takeout, watch a movie?”
The offer was tempting, but we really needed the money for rent; and although my pay was crap, the tips were definitely worth it.
“No, I should go,” I said regretfully. “Thanks though.” I glanced over my shoulder at him. Threw him a small smile, feeling bad for having been moody.
“I liked the scarf,” he said, gesturing to where I’d abandoned it. He smiled encouragingly, holding the mirror up at the back of my head. “I’ll hold this so you can see what you’re doing.”
It was easier to do this time, with Billy’s help. Only took me a couple more minutes to get the scarf positioned right and pinned in so that it was secure.
I smoothed my palm over the scarf, checking it one last time in the mirror. I turned to Billy, chewing my lip.
“What happens when it gets too bad to cover up?” I asked.
“I dunno, shave it off?” he answered, shrugging. He put his hands on my hips, pulled me in closer. Slid his hands into the back pockets of my work trousers. “You don’t need hair to be beautiful.” He pressed a kiss to my forehead then one to my lips; lingered there as he said, “Could shave the whole lot off and you’d still look smoking hot.”
I laughed, despite myself.
“Yeah, that’s easy for you to say,” I retorted. I took hold of one of his perfect curls, gently teasing it out straight between my fingers and let it go. Watched it bounce.
“I’m serious,” he said, leaning back to look at me from arms’ length, with a frown. “It’s only hair, right?” He slowly cracked a smile, trying to encourage me to join in. When I didn’t, he quirked an eyebrow at me, “Right?” he prompted again.
I let out an exasperated sigh, rolled my eyes, but indulged him by replying anyway.
“Right.”
That had inadvertently become our motto regarding my hair. When it had originally started falling out, people would say that to me all the time, ‘It's only hair.’ As if that would make me feel better.
It used to really annoy me, but then Billy had started saying it as a joke, and it had kind of stuck. He insisted that if he said it enough times, I actually might start to believe it. Unfortunately, that theory still had yet to be proved.
“Ok, I gotta go or I’m gonna be late,” I said. I wandered through to the bedroom, Billy following behind me, and gathered up my purse and keys. “Bye,” I said, then gave him a kiss on the lips.
He watched me thoughtfully as I left.
------
When I got home from work, Billy was nowhere to be seen. Granted, it was late, but he normally never went to bed until I’d come back from my shift.
“Babe?” The living room was empty, the TV murmuring away to itself. I wandered over to it, turning it off.
That’s when I heard a faint buzzing sound. Followed it through the flat until I was standing outside of the bathroom door. I pushed my ear to the wood.
“Billy?” I asked, knocking on the door.
The buzzing cut off abruptly, followed by a short silence and then what sounded like something being knocked over. I heard Billy curse sharply, under his breath.
“Babe? What are you doing in there?” I went to open the door.
“Er, hang on a sec,” he said, then hurriedly added, “don’t come in.” I could hear him scrabbling to pick up whatever he’d dropped.
The buzzing started up again. I figured he must be trimming his pubes. No big deal. I’d seen him do that before, a bunch of times, so I didn’t get what all the fuss was about.
I tried the handle. It wasn’t locked.
“Why can’t I-?”
I froze in the doorway, the words dying in my throat.
Billy was stood, shirtless, in front of the bathroom mirror; an electric razor in his hand.
“Y/N,” he said, exasperated, “I told you not to come in. I’m not done yet, it was meant to be a surprise.”
Well, it certainly was just that.
“Oh my God, Billy,” I breathed, walking into the room.
My eyes fell to the basin at his hips, full of familiar dark blonde curls, lying limply against the white porcelain.
The remaining hair on his head was shaved short, save for a small section at the back, near his neck, which he’d obviously missed and the left side of his head, which he was in the process of shaving before I interrupted him.
I looked him over. Somehow, he still managed to take my breath away, even with a poorly shaved head.
He put the razor down on the edge of the sink. Rubbed his hand over the stubble on his head, surveying his handy work in the mirror.
“What d’you think?” He flashed me that smile of his, in the reflection. Faltered slightly when he saw the way my eyes were welling up. “You hate it?” he asked, sounding unsure; disappointed, even. He turned to me.
“No, of course I don’t hate it,” I said, sniffling. Attempted a smile.
“Then what’s wrong?” he asked. He put his hands on my upper arms, stroking them soothingly.
“It’s just... I feel like this is because of what I said earlier…” I sighed, knowing full well that he’d taken what I said to heart and that’s not what I had intended.
“Well, yeah, it is,” he said, shrugging. He looked like he was going to say something else but I cut in.
“I just don’t want you to regret the decision.”
He laughed.
“Bit late for that now,” he said jokingly. But I didn’t find it funny.
“This is a huge deal, Billy,” I continued, as if I hadn’t heard him. “You love your hair.”
He barely seemed to think about his response.
“Yeah, but I love you more,” he said easily.
I didn’t know what to say. My eyes were welling up again.
“I figured that if you did decide to shave your head, it might be easier if I shaved mine too,” he explained, still gently rubbing my arms. “And besides, no one’s even gonna notice your hair now, with all this going on,” he said, gesturing to his lack of hair.
I sputtered a laugh. That was true, it was a state.
“God Billy, I wish you’d just waited until I got home to start this,” I laughed again, wiping at my face with the sleeve of my work shirt.
“At least it got you laughing,” he said with a smile.
“Yeah, and now I’ll laugh every time I see you,” I joked, picking up the razor. “Let me try and fix this.”
I started carefully shaving the hair at the back of his head then continued the section at the side which he hadn’t finished.
When I was done, I stared into the sink, filled with his beautiful hair.
Billy noticed and turned to me.
“Hey, it’s only hair, right?” he said, placing a kiss on the end of my nose.
I hummed a laugh. Thought about it for a moment.
“Right,” I replied.
As Billy started cleaning up the remains of his mullet, I took off my head scarf, pulling it free of the pins. I folded the fabric in my hands and looked up at myself in the mirror. Suddenly, what I saw didn’t seem so bad.
Billy was watching me from behind.
I smiled back at my gorgeous boyfriend, and for the first time ever, I really did feel like maybe it was only hair.
----------------
For those of you that made it this far, here’s some Billy with his head shaved ;)
My taglist is always open, please let me know if you would like to be added!
Summary: Mini Series. Modern AU. You get a summer job working as a resort rep in Magaluf. The resident lifeguard helps make it a summer to remember.
Story warnings: drinking, smoking, sexual references / smut, swearing, mild angst, mentions of previous ended relationship, mild physical and verbal aggression (there will be warnings at the top of each chapter).
A/N: Here’s another mini series to add to my already huge wip pile lol I may have binged a whole two series of Magaluf Weekender (for research, of course), which is now on Youtube, if anyone wants to see where I got my inspo from. Hope you enjoy! Taglist is always open so please let me know if you wanna be added!
Prologue
Part One
Part Two: coming soon
Please do not steal, copy or reuse my work in part or in whole, including posting to other sites without my express permission, even if I am credited as the author. (Tumblr reblogs are fine of course and are encouraged!)
Summary: Mini Series. Modern AU. You get a summer job working as a resort rep in Magaluf. The resident lifeguard helps make it a summer to remember.
Pairing: Lifeguard! Billy x Fem! Reader
A/N: So, the prologue is just a short explanation of how reader ends up in Magaluf. There’s no Billy in this part, sorry, but he will be in the first proper chapter, I promise! I have decided that I always take my stories too seriously and over-edit, which is why I update SO slowly! So, this one will be an experiment to see if I can just have fun and not stress too much about it being perfect; as a result this has hardly been edited lol, apologies if there’s any mistakes. Updates will hopefully be quicker but chapters will most likely be shorter. I was super excited to start writing this, so here it is! Hope you enjoy! Y/N= Your name and Y/N/N= Your nickname.
SERIES MASTERLIST // MY MASTERLIST
Chapter warnings: swearing, talk of a recently ended relationship, a smidge of angst.
Word count: 3,135
Please do not use or copy my work, in part or in whole. Plagiarism is a crime.
------
Sunlight filters into your bedroom through a gap in the curtains. You glare at the golden rays, thinking about all of the other teens, who are outside enjoying the glorious weather and the freedom of the summer holidays. You roll lazily onto your side in bed and face your alarm clock. It’s already well past midday. You groan, pulling the covers up over your head and will yourself to go back to sleep.
There’s a timid knock on your bedroom door. You reluctantly drag the duvet off your face, frowning in the direction of the sound.
“Y/N, sweetie,” your mum’s voice calls gently through the wood, “Heather’s here to see you.”
You bury your head back under the covers with a groan. As much as you love Heather, you’re still not in the mood to see anyone; much less in the mood to talk about what happened yet.
Your mum opens the door and cautiously sticks her head into the room and you mentally curse yourself for not having relocked it after sneaking out to the bathroom earlier. She sighs when she spots you, curled up in the foetal position under the covers, and steps aside to let Heather in.
“I really think you should talk to her sweetie. It will make you feel better,” she says.
When you don’t respond, she shares a concerned look with Heather, then leaves the two of you, alone.
Heather stands near the door, staring at the lump in the duvet that is you; hot pink sunglasses pushed up into her dark hair.
“You gonna stop hiding and talk to me?” she asks.
“No,” you say childishly, voice muffled by the bed covers.
She huffs loudly and crosses the room.
Wondering what she’s up to, you peer out from your cocoon and watch as she picks her way through the clothes strewn across your bedroom floor. There’s a ‘swoosh’ of material as she draws the curtains back with a flourish and opens the window wide.
You hiss at the sudden invasion of light and duck back under the covers again.
“It smells like something died in here,” Heather says, turning to face you, crossing her arms over her chest. Her foot taps impatiently against the carpet. There’s a beat of silence.
“Come on,” she says suddenly, in a stern voice, “Get up.” She pulls the covers off you, dragging them onto the floor at her feet. You try feebly to hold onto the material, but it slips from your grasp and you can’t find the energy to stop it.
“I leave in a week,” she continues, “and I’ll be damned if I’m gonna let you spend the time we have left together lying in bed sulking! I’m taking you out for some retail therapy.”
You groan.
“Please, Heather, I really don’t feel like it.” You curl up tighter on the bed, hugging your knees to your chest.
“You know what?” she gumbles to herself, moving round to the side of the bed so she’s towering over you. “I’ve been patient enough. It’s been a week!” She says, exasperated.
You say nothing, just offer her a sad little pout, hoping she’ll take pity on you.
“So Nate broke up with you,” she shrugs. You feel a sharp ache in your chest at the mention of his name.
“This is you trying to make me feel better?” you ask, lifting your head off the pillow and narrowing your eyes at her.
“Face it, Y/N,” she says, acting as if she didn’t hear you, and leans back against your chest of drawers, “The guy’s an asshole and you are so much better off without him. Now you need to stop wasting your time pining after him and get on with your life! It’s the summer!” She gestures at the window with one arm.
You follow with your eyes to where she’s pointing, until you’re staring at the sunlight spilling into your bedroom and think again about your fellow ex-classmates, fresh from graduation. You think of Nate, smiling and laughing with his friends and feel defeat tugging at your gut.
When you don’t respond, Heather sighs.
“Ok, tough love’s obviously not working,” she says to herself, pushing away from the dresser, and sits down on the edge of the bed.
“Look,” she says softly, “I know this sucks, trust me, I do. But you can’t stay in here forever.” She reaches over to you and places a hand on your arm, rubbing it gently. “Y/N, please. I need to know that you’re gonna to be ok. I can’t leave you behind in this state.”
She falls silent, looking at the floor.
“I’m fine,” you reply, flatly.
Heather looks at you. Knows you’re lying.
“I could stay here,” she suggests. “I’ll just tell the resort I found another job or something.” That makes you look up at her.
“What? No, you can’t do that,” you say quickly, sitting up. “You’ve been so excited about it, you have to go.”
She smiles gently at you.
“But look at you, Y/N/N, you clearly need me here,” she says softly. Gestures to you and your room.
“Heath, I’ll be fine…” you say hesitantly, glancing down at the state of your floor, “eventually.” She looks at you like she’s not convinced.
“Listen, you’re getting on that plane, even if I have to drag you to the airport myself,” you threaten.
She huffs a laugh at your sudden feistiness.
“At least that would get you out of bed,” she says.
You laugh too. Your throat strains a little in complaint and you realise this is the first time you’ve even so much as cracked a smile in over a week.
A comfortable silence fills the room and you both share a smile.
“Will you please just come out with me?” Heather asks finally. “Even if it’s only for an hour. I think some fresh air will do you good.”
You look at her pretty face as you reluctantly consider her offer. She’s already caught the sun on her forehead; lobster red hairline, clashing with her glasses.
You suppose you could try to hold it together for the next week; to convince her that you’ll be ok whilst she’s gone. You at least owe her that. It’s just typical, that the one summer you don’t have a boyfriend to spend it with, Heather’s got herself a summer job working abroad.
“Ok,” you agree, shuffling towards her on the bed. She pulls you into a hug and you rest your head on her shoulder. “It’s a shame you’re going away for the whole summer,” you say softly.
“I know,” she sighs into your hair. “What are you gonna do whilst I’m gone?”
You lift your head to look at her. There was a bunch of stuff you had planned to do with Nate, which obviously wouldn’t be happening now...
“I dunno,” you sigh. “I could get a summer job, I guess.” You pull away from her.
“You know, I think that’ll be good. Help keep your mind off things,” she says encouragingly. “Hey, you know what?” she asks, slapping your leg gently with her hand, “If you save up enough money, you could come visit me in Magaluf! Spend a long weekend lounging by the pool,” she suggests excitedly.
You smile along, even though you know deep down you only said about getting a summer job to appease Heather.
“Right, come on,” she says, ushering you up off of the mattress. “Go take a shower. You stink.”
---
As reluctant as you were to come out with Heather, you’re really glad she’d convinced you to. You’d felt much more human after your shower, like a little bit of your sadness had been washed away with the dirt. Between that and the beautiful weather, plus some serious retail therapy with your best friend, your mood had been lifted considerably.
You’re sitting outside of the 50’s themed diner, in the food court of the Mall, with Heather; a basket of french fries between you on the table and shopping bags at your feet.
Heather had asked on your behalf about whether there were any jobs available at the diner over the summer, and the woman behind the counter, who was dressed as Marilyn Monroe, had told you to pop back in next week to talk to the owner. You’d just smiled and said thanks, knowing you wouldn’t come back.
Heather animatedly chats away about her new job.
“Well, ‘cos of my experience working at the pool last summer, they want to train me to do lifeguard duties too!” She tells you excitedly. “Apparently there’s already one other rep who does that.” She slurps soda through a straw then plucks up a couple of fries, smearing the ends with ketchup. “And the best part is, if it goes well and I like it, there’s the option for me to go back next year,” she beams at you and pops the fries into her mouth, chewing happily.
“That’s great,” you say, taking a sip of your own soda. It’s nice to see her so excited about it, but you’re still sad that you’ll be alone all summer.
Her phone rings from next to her elbow, on the table. She wipes her hands clean on a napkin and looks at the caller ID.
“Speaking of,” she says, recognising the number. “You alright if I take this?”
“Yeah, of course,” you say, offering her a smile. You look around at the shoppers passing by and help yourself to a couple of fries.
“Hi, Brynn. You alright?” Heather says cheerily.
She listens to the response and her brow furrows slightly.
“Oh no,” she says, concernedly.
You watch her, trying to gauge what’s wrong.
The voice on the other end of the line talks for a bit then Heather’s eyes flick to you. Her face breaks into a grin.
“Actually, yeah, I might know the perfect person,” she says. More murmuring comes from the phone.
“Yeah, I’ll call you back,” Heather replies, “Thanks.”
She hangs up, still smiling.
“Who was that?” you ask her warily.
“That was the Head Rep of the resort I got the job at. Turns out one of the other reps has backed out and they need a replacement. Asked if I had any friends I could recommend...” she lets her sentence trail off meaningfully, practically vibrating with excitement.
“I don’t know, Heather...”
She lets out an exasperated scoff at your obvious reluctance.
“Oh, come on, won’t you at least consider it?” she asks disappointedly. “Listen, you’ll be earning some money, it’s right on the beach and we’ll get to spend the summer together!” she counts off on her fingers.
When she puts it like that, it does sound tempting. But, as much as you’d love to spend the summer with her, you just can’t picture yourself actually going. Magaluf is well-known for its crazy party scene; something you’re not very experienced with. And you know, through Heather, that a big part of the job is accompanying groups of guests on their planned nights out.
“Seriously Heather, me in Magaluf? I’m not much of a party girl, am I?” you ask, raising an eyebrow at her.
“Well, how would you know?” she comes back quickly, “You’ve never been allowed to find out.”
You blink at her in response. That was a dig about Nate. He used to make a fuss if you were invited to parties without him, so you hardly ever went to them. Heather hated that about him. Accused him of not letting you have friends; said he was trying to control you.
“The timing literally couldn’t be any more perfect!” She grabs your arm excitedly and gives it a small shake. “Look, just think about it, please?” she asks with hopeful hazel eyes.
You look away from her.
“Ok. I’ll think about it.”.
Your gaze falls on a young couple, around yours and Heather’s age, walking along together through the food court. The girl is wearing a pretty baby blue dress, which is what drew your eye in the first place. The guy has one arm draped over her shoulders, whispering something into her ear that makes her blush. She giggles, turning to hide her face in his shoulder.
You go to avert your eyes, but then you do a double take, realising who it is and your stomach lurches, threatening to bring up the fries you’d just eaten. It’s as if the rest of the mall has been put on mute, the sounds of the other shoppers drowning out into nothingness, and all you can see is Nate, with his arm around that girl.
You feel like all the air has been punched out of your lungs as you watch them from across the food court.
Heather asks you if you’re ok, but you don’t hear her. She follows your gaze to Nate and her face drops instantly.
“Oh God,” she whispers, mortified.
She hurriedly gathers up your bags and eases you out of your seat by your arm. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
She guides you past rows of shops to an alcove near some toilets. She eyes you warily, as if she’s expecting you to break into pieces at any moment. A woman with a toddler in her arms casts you a concerned look and Heather smiles quickly at her, she’s ok.
Heather pulls you into the alcove.
“I am so sorry Y/N,” she says, remorse and concern etched on her face. She comes to a stop in front of you and gently places her hands on your upper arms, holding you there.
Your eyes drift to her face, almost dreamily, your expression flat. You feel oddly numb.
“I just wanna go home, ok?”
She doesn’t object.
“Yeah ok,” she says softly.
---
Neither of you says a word on the short walk back to your house.
When you enter through the back door, your mum is sitting at the kitchen table, reading the newspaper. She lowers it to check who’s there then closes it completely when she sees it’s you, Heather trailing cautiously behind.
“How was your little shopping trip?” she asks, beaming at you both.
You walk straight through the kitchen to your bedroom, without saying a word.
Your mum’s smile falters. She looks at Heather for an explanation.
“We saw Nate,” Heather says in a low voice, eyes flicking to the hallway where you’d disappeared, to make sure you can’t hear her. “With another girl.”
Your mum’s brow creases deeply at the news. She gets up and goes over to stand next to Heather, both of them staring down the corridor after you.
“How did she take it?” she asks.
“I don’t really know…” Heather replies, glancing at your mum. “She hasn’t said a word.”
A heavy silence weighs down on them.
“You ok if I go check on her?” Heather asks finally.
Your mum smiles gently at her.
“Of course. Oh, and Heather?” Heather turns back in the doorway to look at her. “Thanks for getting her out,” she says genuinely.
Heather smiles sadly in response. Yeah but look how it turned out, she thinks.
When Heather enters your room a moment later, she finds you sat on your bed, with your back pressed against the headboard and your knees pulled up to your chest. You’re still wearing your sneakers, dirty prints marking the undersheet. Your forehead is resting on your knees, face hidden from view.
Heather places the shopping bags on the floor by the door and comes over to the edge of the bed, hesitating before sitting down.
“Are you ok?” she asks you carefully, reaching out a hand to stroke the back of your head. “No, that’s a stupid question,” she quickly corrects herself, “Of course you’re not ok.”
You make a small squeak, your shoulders quivering just the slightest bit, and Heather suspects you’re crying. She wraps her arms around you as best she can and gives you a big hug.
“I’m so sorry,” she says. Sorry Nate broke your heart, sorry I forced you to go outside when you weren’t ready, sorry he’s a massive asshole… sorry this is happening to you.
“They looked so happy,” you whisper, so quietly that if Heather weren’t hugging you, she wouldn’t have heard it. You give another small tremor.
Heather doesn’t speak, because she knows there’s nothing she can say to you in this moment that will make it hurt any less. Just holds you a little tighter.
“Thanks for being here, Heath,” you say into your knees with a small sniffle.
She strokes your hair lightly in response.
You honestly don’t know how you’re going to survive the summer without her here. The thought of seeing Nate and that girl again seems all the more awful knowing that Heather won’t be around to hold you like this.
You lift your head and Heather pulls back to give you room. You wipe at your tearstained face roughly with your hand, frustrated with yourself for wasting tears on him. Heather rubs your back soothingly with her palm.
You glance around at your room and it’s as if you’re seeing it for the first time; dimly lit and depressing. There’s discarded clothes everywhere, your bed covers still bundled in a sad pile on the floor at the foot of the bed. A couple of photo frames on your dresser, tipped over so that the pictures inside are hidden. You can’t go back to wallowing in here. But you can’t stand the thought of running into them again. Of pretending you’re ok.
And suddenly, braving Magaluf’s nightlife seems like the least of your problems…
“I’ve made up my mind,” you say, your voice surprisingly steady.
Heather looks at you, confused.
“What’s that?”
“I’ve made up my mind,” you repeat. “I’m coming with you.”
“Wait, to Magaluf?” she asks, still unsure what you’re talking about.
You nod.
She beams excitedly for a second then quickly reigns it in.
“Are you sure? Shouldn’t you wait until you’re less upset to make up your mind?”
You turn to face her more head on.
“No, I’m sure about this,” you say resolutely. “I just need to get away from Hawkins for a bit, clear my head.”
She considers you seriously for a moment, her eyes searching your face for any uncertainty.
Seemingly convinced, she lets herself be excited again.
“Oh, this is gonna be so great!” she says, giving you a squeeze.
You laugh at her enthusiasm and you can’t help but feel hopeful that this summer might not suck after all.
When Heather finally lets go of you, you wipe away a few stray tears from your cheeks, vowing to yourself that they will be the last you will ever cry over Nate.
------
Part One
Please let me know what you guys think so far! I’ve been very excited about this idea. My taglist is always open, just drop me a comment if you wanna be added!
Summary: Mini-series. Y/N is the captain of the female basketball team at Hawkins High. She clashes with the new captain of the male team when he keeps booking out the gym, leaving the girls with nowhere to practice
Story Warnings: my limited knowledge of basketball, swearing, smoking, drinking, alcoholism (not reader), slight sexual references (kissing and a bit of groping), panic attacks and symptoms of anxiety, reader has anger issues, OCD (briefly touched on), reader is complex and flawed, slut shaming, sexist comments, Billy is an ass for a large part of this fic, very brief and non-graphic mentions of self-inflicted pain, mild verbal and physical aggression. There are some things I don’t want to spoil, but I will put additional warnings on each chapter.
A/N: This is for @lets-hargroove’s Valentine’s Writing Challenge, thanks so much for letting me take part bbe! I have had so much fun writing this and I really hope you like it. Please like, comment or reblog to let me know your thoughts (I LOVE feedback) and if you would like to be tagged, feel free to comment, message or send an ask. I hope you enjoy!
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7: coming soon
Disclaimer (because I’m old school): I do not own and am not responsible for the creation of anything to do with the Stranger Things Netflix series or franchise, or Netflix itself. This is an AU so won’t follow any of the canon from the Netflix series. I do not own and did not create the characters of Billy, Steve, Nancy, Heather and Tina (or any other characters or entities from the Stranger Things Netflix series that may be referenced in any part of this fiction). The actual written content of this fiction, however, and it’s OCs, are my own and should not be used or copied, in part or whole. This includes posting to other sites without my express permission, even if I am credited as the author. Plagiarism is a crime, kids.
Check out this amazing mood board the wonderful and super talented @nottherightseason created for my fic ‘It’s On!’ which will be coming to my masterlist verrrry soon! I am so excited to post it! Thanks so much again Tara, I love it!
