#but billy would still be a surfer and lifeguard and have that blonde hair and be a cocky prick like aussie guys are (iykyk)

[buttbiscuit]

Steve and his British boyfriend Eddie and his Australian boyfriend Billy.....

[talesfrom-theupsidedown]

Sink or Swim [Billy Hargrove x GenderNeutral!reader] Ch. 1

Summary: Working at the local Snack Shack at Hawkins Pool wasn’t your dream but it’s a decent summer job before college. It did come with a perk of being in proximity to the recent California transfer and resident asshole, Billy Hargrove. Having a nice view of the handsome blond was good enough, but when circumstances lead you to an encounter with Billy and then a chance to become friends, perhaps even more, you can’t stay away. Maybe Billy Hargrove isn’t such an asshole after all. [Canon with a variation]

Warnings: eventual mentions of abuse, smoking, alcohol, sexual themes.

Word Count: 2.8k

Author’s Note: I’m so freaking excited to finally be sharing this story! Please let me know your thoughts! Reblogs and comments are much appreciated. :) I will also be adding each chapter to AO3 and Wattpad shortly after this posts, if you prefer to read over there. I’ll be posting under the username @avengerofyourheart​ , which is also my main blog here on tumblr. Love you!! 

Part One        Part Two>>> 

Sink or Swim Series Masterlist

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The first official encounter you had with Billy Hargrove was unexpected, brief and…surprisingly sweet. Every one after that seemed to be moronic (on your part) and…embarrassing. 

Naturally. 

Getting a job at the Snack Shack at Hawkins Community Pool wasn’t your first choice, but it was just for the summer. In the fall, you were headed to college and would get to leave your small town behind. In the mean time, you would be selling junk food to your former classmates and their younger siblings every day. Awesome. 

Billy got a job as one of the lifeguards, which wasn’t much of a surprise. From what you could collect through gossip floating around the high school, the mullet-wearing, muscled, Camaro-driving asshole was a former surfer from California, so the position fit him. And despite confirmation of his prickly personality, you weren’t mad about the sight of Billy in nothing but a pair of red swim trunks, sunglasses, and a whistle around his neck. 

Hot damn.

Billy never knew you existed in school, since you were less than popular and ran in different circles. Not surprising. You saw him around, though, even sharing a few classes together. He seemed bored with school and didn’t really try but somehow still got passing grades. Billy was the athletic type, enjoying gym class but especially basketball. Or maybe it was just fun for him to mess with King Steve Harrington, and it was enjoyable for you to witness at times as well. Knowing Steve all your life, you agreed that he could stand to be taken down a peg or two. The bigger the hair, the bigger the ego and Steve’s had grown exponentially the past few years in both regards. 

Then there was graduation and the idea of freedom and new beginnings. But first, you had to survive the summer.

During employee orientation just after school let out, you were there and Billy showed up late as one could expect. A few days of training followed with you learning all the equipment in the Snack Shack and which scoop was the correct portion for every item. Not exactly rocket science. At the same time, the lifeguards were getting CPR certification and practicing rescue drills. Looked like more fun than you what you were doing. 

Billy tended to hang back from the group during the vocal instructions, sometimes smoking a cigarette when he probably shouldn’t be. But when it came to the practical learning, he was all in, practicing CPR on dummies and “rescuing” his co-workers during drills. His swimming was strong and for timed rescues he did the best. Huh. Perhaps he’s not so apathetic about everything as it would seem. 

Once the pool opened, you were given morning shifts at first, which was fine but the Snack Shack was not that busy until kids started begging their parents for lunch. Time crawled when there wasn’t anything to do, but it did give you a chance to peek at the happenings at the pool. Swimming classes were early, before the pool opened to the public. Most of the time you were just setting up so hearing the gaggle of six-year-olds arriving had you glancing over to see what was up. 

Billy Hargrove was quite the enigma. Given his reputation, yes, he could be an asshole at times. During public hours when he was in the chair, he had a tendency to blow his whistle and yell across the pool at the supposed offender, often threatening a permanent ban. Well, that’s one approach. It did seem to do the trick, though. At least they knew he was serious and it could be said that personal safety was a serious matter that justified a heavier-handed method.

During those early mornings twice a week, though, when Billy was surrounded by tiny kids in water wings and swim suits with little skirts attached, he almost…transformed. He spoke softer and smiled more than you thought him capable of. It was really sweet, watching him explain what he wanted the kids to do while on dry land before even getting in the pool. He forced the parents to stay across the way and out of ear reach, knowing that he could still get their attention should one of their precious little ones need to go to the bathroom or something. Billy didn’t seem to want the parents hovering, otherwise. Makes sense. 

The little ones adored him, surprisingly. Listening to his softer, gentle instructions when one of them was crying or lifting them up to sit on the side for a short break. Being small and learning a lot of new, scary things at once could be overwhelming, you assumed. Billy gave each one of them a high-five at the end of lessons and a few even gave him a hug. 

One morning, you had just opened the metal gate at the counter and turned around to grab some tongs when you heard a voice behind you.

“Hey.” 

Turning to the sound, you were surprised to see Billy on the other side of your counter. 

“…hi?” you replied, startled. 

“So, I’m sure you’re not open yet but could I trouble you for a popsicle? I got a little girl with a skinned knee and parents on their way. I promised her one if she’d quit crying. I can’t handle crying kids,” Billy said gruffly. Although you had seen evidence to the contrary, you just nodded. 

“Sure. Flavor preference?” you croaked out through a suddenly dry throat. 

“Nah. Whatever you have. I don’t have my wallet with me but I can swing by later and—“

“Don’t worry about it,” you interrupted, handing him the frozen treat. “Emergency popsicles are on the house.”

“Oh. Okay. Thanks.” 

Billy offered a tight smile and walked away to a tiny girl seated on a lounge chair wrapped in a towel, the saddest expression on her face. She was trying to be brave but her body was still shaken by a sob every few moments. Billy crouched down to her level and handed her popsicle, now distracted enough for him to disinfect and bandage the skinned knee. Huh. So Billy did have a soft side, if maybe not for anyone his own size. Interesting. 

A week or two later it was abundantly clear that whoever was closing up the Snack Shack was doing a shit job and it just made your job harder in the mornings. Nothing was properly cleaned and ingredients weren’t prepped like they should be. After a gentle mention to your supervisor, somehow the solution was that you would be switching to the late shift so the job would be done right. Because properly training and disciplining your co-workers was little too much work. Great. 

You mourned the loss of the slow mornings and peeks of Swim Instructor Billy for a moment, but you got over it. Afternoon shifts were crazy busy and at least the time passed quickly. You hadn’t seen Billy come by since that first morning, but that was to be expected. Since then, you had your duties and he had his. Interaction with him just never really happened. 

Until it did. 

One night after the pool closed, you had pulled down the metal gate at the snack shack counter and were finishing the last of your clean up. Suddenly, music began to play from the direction of the pool. Peeking out the side door in curiosity, you spotted Billy with a boom box, music now blaring from the lifeguard tower. He climbed down and went about his evening checklist as the sun began to set. 

Once the pool closed, the last lifeguard was in charge of cleaning the pool, properly arranging the lounge chairs even though they would be shifted within minutes tomorrow morning, and sweeping leaves off the deck. While many of the other lifeguards often bitched about the responsibility and would do a half-assed job, Billy seemed okay with it. Oddly enough, he did it well and without complaint. The music probably made the tasks more bearable. 

Returning to your own closing tasks, you finished wiping down all the counters, washed the dishes to let them air dry, and the last item on your list was taking out the trash. You could dump it on the way out so you gathered your backpack and stowed away your apron and visor. So stylish. 

Backpack slung over one shoulder, you tried to carry a rather heavy trash bag in each hand while also opening the side door and making sure it was locked. Once you stepped outside, though, a peculiar sight quickly distracted you. 

To your surprise, the supposed asshole and lifeguard extraordinaire, Billy Hargrove, was currently lip-synching while using a push-broom as a microphone stand. Billy Idol’s “Rebel Yell” blasted from the speakers as the other Billy before you head-banged to the beat and pumped a fist into the air as the words “More. More. More…more, more more!” rang out across the empty pool deck. As the chorus ended, Billy raised his face to the sky and jumped in place, his handsome features sharpened by the blue light emitting from the pool. A wide smile stretched across Billy’s face as the makeshift mic stand became an electric guitar in his hands.

Entranced by the sight, you unconsciously shifted the weight of one of the trash bags and lost your grip, knocking over a stack of empty buckets. Smooth. 

The sound caused Billy’s head to whip toward you and his posture stiffened, eyes shifting around for other witnesses. Gathering your senses, you finally let the door close behind you and raised your free hand in an awkward greeting. 

“Sorry, I—“ 

But nothing else came out. 

Dammit. Giving up at an attempt in human communication, you picked up the trash and hauled ass toward the parking lot. The short glance backward that you allowed yourself showed that Billy was back to sweeping, his head down. Your heart sank. For a split second you got to see another side of Billy. Maybe what everyone else has said was a ruse. What was Billy like when no one else was around? You sure felt free enough to be yourself in the safety of an empty space. Or that you thought was empty. Unintentionally, you had intruded on that and ruined Billy’s moment. 

Sigh. 

Maybe you could make up for it…

Tossing the trash bags in the parking lot dumpster, you walked over to your nearby bike, unlocked it, and rode home with the evening’s exchange running on rotation the whole way home. 

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A few days later, you got a chance to act on your plan when it was just the two of you closing up again. If your intruding on Billy’s post-work jams made him uncomfortable, then it was time to even the playing field. 

By humiliating yourself. 

Finishing up your inside projects first, you then headed outside to place the patio chairs on top the tables in preparation of sweeping your own area. Billy spared you a glance upon your appearance but quickly returned to his attention to ridding the pool of leaves and dead bugs. His boombox blared music once again, playing songs from the local rock station. 

Heart pounding, you started to sweep and waited until a familiar sang came on. Soon the band Foreigner blasted from the stereo. Perfect. Abandoning your task, you bobbed your head to the beat as the first lyrics began. 

“Well, I’m hot-blooded, check it to see

I’ve got a fever of a hundred and three

Come on, baby, do you do more than dance? 

I’m hot-blooded, hot-blooded.”

Lip-synching in an exaggerated manner, you spun around with the broom in your hands and taking a page out of Billy’s book, chose to use it as a microphone. You jerked your limbs about, perhaps to be taken as dancing, and dove into the second verse. 

“You don’t have to read my mind,

to know what I have in mind.

Honey, you ought to know. 

Yeah, you move so fine,

let me lay it on the line.

I wanna know what you’re 

doing after the show.” 

Having gotten lost in the moment, you finally took a glance in the pool’s direction to see Billy standing in place, the pool net loose in his grip. Was that a smile you could see on his face? Bingo. You finished out the song with some air guitar and a windmill or two, leaning against a table to catch your breath as the last notes of Foreigner ended. 

To your surprise, you heard clapping and you whirled around to see the sound coming from Billy. Now feeling the humiliation of your little show, you weren’t sure what to do now. Finally settling on an awkward bow in reply, you then ran back inside the Snack Shack to stow away your apron and grab your bag. Aiming to reach the parking lot and be gone by the time Billy appeared, you thankfully succeeded. You rode your bike down the street and around the corner just in time to hear the easily identifiable Camaro roar to life. 

Perhaps your next encounter with Billy wouldn’t involve personal embarrassment. The possibility was unlikely at this point, but one could dream. 

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The next week, you were having one of the worst days ever at your job so far. Some kid spilled a soda all over your counter and down onto the floor and the most you could do in the moment was throw down some towels. By the time you got a break in customers, you were left with a solid, sticky mess. Your manager also hadn’t staffed enough people for the weekend so you had to fend for yourself once again. 

No one else had taken out the trash and had instead piled up bags by the side door so you were taking one of multiple trips out to the parking lot long after closing. Lifting the dumpster lid with one hand, you chucked one bag inside with the other but as you raised the second bag, a sharp metal edge caught the plastic and ripped. Of course it did. The 6 inch hole began to spill out its contents of half-empty soda cups and chip bags. At least it wasn’t the bag full of food scraps. 

“God-fucking-DAMMIT!!” you screamed at the top of your lungs, dropping the bag to the pavement. 

“Oh, shit,” you heard from you behind you. 

Turning swiftly to the sound, you spotted Billy Hargrove with car keys in hand, fresh from a shower. 

Perfect. It had to be him who was still around. 

Once again embarrassed, you glanced at the mess around you, including a half-full lukewarm soda cup that was open and now soaking into your shoe. 

“Sorry, I—“ 

Nothing else came out. Once again, you couldn’t progress in communication any further in his presence. Picking up the bag but upside down, you finally got it inside the dumpster and started collecting the trash that had fallen out. From your crouched position, you suddenly saw another pair of hands helping. 

“You don’t have to do that,” you managed to squeak out. 

“It’s no big deal,” Billy replied, tossing a few items in the dumpster and then holding the lid for you to throw in the last of it. 

“Thank you.” 

Finding the courage to meet his eye, you discovered you were only a few feet from Billy. You’d never seen him that closely. Damp curls framed his face with bright blue eyes catching yours and a cautious smile on his lips. Damn, he was cute. 

“I’m Billy,” he said, offering his hand. 

“Hargrove,” you finished his name. “I know. We had two classes together last year.” You almost accepted his shake but remembered what you had just touched and pulled away. 

“Right,” Billy replied, sheepish. “Remind me?” 

Catching on, you shared your name. 

“Y/N,” he repeated. “Of course. Nice visor.” 

The blond flicked the bill with one finger, unsettling the visor on your head. 

You huffed out a laugh, tugging it back on. “Yeah, well. Not everyone can pull off the look. I consider myself lucky.” 

Billy burst out a genuine chuckle, causing a warm, happy flip in your stomach.

“Well. I’ll see you around, Y/N,” he said, walking backward toward his car. 

“Yup. Bye.” 

You received the gift of watching Billy’s backside in motion for a few moments before you had the sense to stop staring. Time to finally finish this hellish workday and go home. 

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Part Two>>>

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Thoughts??? I just love a softer Billy, okay? He deserves all the good things, starting with maybe...a friend? I guess we’ll see. :D Also I know Hot Blooded was in a ~certain scene~ but I’m choosing to take it back, mmkay? I’d love to know your thoughts on this fic! Reblogs, comments, etc., are very much appreciated. You can even send me an ask if you’d like! I appreciate youuuu. :) 

Also if you want to be added to my tag list, please let me know! 

Billy tag list: 

@every-dayiwakeup @feelmyroarrrr @someonehelpshit @ria132love @sebbytrash​ @withahintofpestoaioli​ @nogitsunbae​ @ickypuppi3​ @prettybillycore​