#i used to think she needed different shoes but those were perf

[bookshelf-dust]

soul made of honeybees

billy hargrove x fem!reader

gif by @biillys

word count: 6,418

warnings: brief swearing, mentions of smoking, reader deals with body insecurities/dysmorphia, uses exercise as a punishment, all of the struggles that come with trying to accept oneself

synopsis: on a journey of becoming more active and trying to be happier in yourself, you find billy, who helps you develop a healthier relationship with exercising and shows you that your body should be celebrated for all it does for you.

a/n: well, what do we have here? my creative juices have begun to flow again, and this is the first fic to be born of that particular affair. in my head i’ve set this in the late 80s, maybe early 90s, where i imagine billy still works at the pool during the summers when he’s home from college. this is a situation i’ve found myself in over the past year, and i wanted a chance to explore it in this way and sort through some of my own experiences. i hope you will enjoy it. as always, happy reading! <3

————

Jane Fonda is a fucking fantastic woman. But right now, you hate her. 

She manages to look stunning and effortless with each kick of her legs; while you are sweating profusely, your shorts are up your ass, and your fingers are swollen from overheating. 

You hate exercising in the moment, but once her thirty minute video is over and her group of people in tights and tiny shorts are gone, admittedly you do feel better. Rinsing the sweat from your face, feeling your muscles ache the next day—it brings you some sort of satisfaction. 

Your body likes that you’ve gotten more active. 

But your own hatred for your body was the reason you allowed Jane Fonda into your home to begin with. Sick, right? You know it’s bad, and yet each time you squat, crunch, and press, you can’t stop yourself from wishing you were shaped differently. From looking at the toned and athletic bodies in Miss Fonda’s videos and imagining what it would be like to feel that comfortable in your own skin, to be so graceful and…perfect.

So, you continue to push yourself, in hopes that you’ll become more appealing, that if you keep doing this, there will come a point where you aren’t totally and completely disgusted with the body you’ve been given. 

Because at this point, you’ve truly convinced yourself that you cannot be happy in your body. Even if you have noticed your strength levels increasing and really want to push yourself more. But you won’t let that positivity ring free like the woman on your television always wishes you would. 

“You did a great job!” Jane’s voice rings throughout your living room as the workout video ends, and you scramble for the remote, having had enough of these cheery attitudes for one morning.

You sit back on your hands, stretch out your legs, and try to steady your breath. Your knees have carpet burn, and you can feel sweat dripping down your temples. 

You may be a heaving mess, but you need more. The workouts have gotten easy, and you need something new. 

A woman runs by outside your window in a bright pink leotard and blue jogging shorts, matching pink leg warmers meeting her tennis shoes.

I could try that, you think. Maybe I’d like running. 

You certainly didn’t like it in school, but most of that was the result of shitty phys-ed teachers and the fact that you were never the athlete those instructors wanted you to be. 

You push off the floor and stalk to your room, digging for the sneakers you know are buried in the back of your closet. You have to try this. You need to keep pushing yourself. And if you don’t do it now, with this sudden spark of energy, you probably never will. 

Five minutes. You can run for five minutes. And if you feel like you can after that time is up, you’ll do ten. 

You squeeze your eyes shut as you’re tying your shoes, shoving away the thoughts telling you that you’ll definitely not look as cute as that woman on the street or any other woman that goes for a run, their ponytail swaying and their cheeks perfectly pinked. 

But what does it matter? You have to try. You have to be productive and make something out of yourself. You can’t deal with the pulsing, clawing thoughts of self-hatred anymore. Your body has to change.

The only problem is that you haven’t yet realized your mindset must too.

The heat that swallows you up when you step out of your front door is almost enough to send you right back inside. But how disappointed will you be in yourself if you retreat that quickly? 

You let your body begin to walk before your brain can start to argue. Your street doesn’t really have a sidewalk, so you keep to one side as the cyclists and other joggers do, ensuring you won’t be in anyone’s way. Subconsciously, you’re already making yourself smaller even though there’s no one outside to judge you. 

You look down at your watch, noting the time, and start to run. Not as though you’re being chased by a serial killer—or a man—but enough that it counts as a run. Those first few seconds are blissful. You feel like a little kid as the adrenaline spreads through your veins. Like your mom has just called you in because dinner is ready, like you're racing against the sunset so that your feet land inside the door just before the streetlights flick on. 

You forgot what it was like to move your body in this way. To feel this momentary freedom. You make it about three minutes before your side starts to hurt, a telltale sign that you haven’t done this in far too long. The heat is starting to get to you too, but you said you’d go for five, and that’s what you’re doing. 

It’s pitiful, the way you press yourself to the inside of your front door, trying to catch your breath from that little bit of work. Why did it hurt so much more than everything Jane Fonda tells you to do? 

Maybe you’re not meant to be the athletic type. Or maybe I need to eat something, you think. I need to make a plan for myself. That could make it easier. 

You can’t eat with your shirt sticking to your back though, so you strip and turn the shower on, practically jumping under the cool stream of water. But not before you glance at your body in the full-length mirror hanging on the wall. Your hands find your stomach, eye each stretch mark and bit of cellulite. Each extra-soft spot of skin, every part of you that doesn’t conform to the vision you have in your head. 

You wish that five minute run had fixed everything. That you could magically look like an aerobics instructor and be happy in your own skin. Your eyes fill with tears, and you think for a minute that it could be better to just stop before you get ahead of yourself. What’s the point? You don’t know if you have it in you to wait and see results. And you know you won’t turn into someone else, won’t form a new shape…and then you’re spiraling. You can’t think of a single reason why exercising is worth it.

Because it can be fun. Because it pushes you and makes you stronger. You shove this tiny voice away and let your gaze flick back to the shower, where you’ve completely abandoned your cold sanctuary. You hop in and start scrubbing your hair, trying to think of anything that isn’t your body in that mirror, anything other than how much you looked like a fraud trying to fit in with everyone else. 

————

You continue on this way for a while longer: running in the mornings, doing as many of the Jane Fonda videos as you have access to at work, drinking more water, blah blah blah. One of the perks of working at the library is that you can check out as many tapes as you want. But you’ve done all of Jane’s workouts, and you need more. 

You could swim, but when is the community pool ever not full to the brim during the summer? You could try jazzercise. No. That’s just not for you. You could…go to the gym. 

The pool also has small gyms for both women and men, and you know the men’s one is usually very busy, but most of the women in Hawkins take part in other forms of exercise. And if you went in the mornings…you might have the place to yourself. You might could try and tone up. 

God, this sounds so stupid. 

And your heart rate picks up just thinking about doing this very new and very big and very embarrassing thing, but you want to do it. You’re going to try. 

Hopefully you’ll just go unnoticed. This is a totally normal thing for people to do, right? 

The community pool opens at ten during the week, but the doors to the gyms open at seven. And that’s what time you get there, out of pure fear that you’ll have to interact with another human and make a fool of yourself. But the universe must be looking out for you on this particular morning, because the door is unlocked, and you slip in without any hassle. 

Billy isn’t a morning person. He never has been, but an excuse to get out of his hellhole of a house before anyone else is up to fuck with him? Yeah, he jumped at that opportunity. 

Usually the manager opens the gyms and stays to open the pool during the summer, but he volunteered. Especially because he can usually get in a workout before his shift technically even starts. 

He’ll bench as much as he can without a spot, work on the pull ups he never tells anyone he struggles with. It just feels good to be able to use his muscles and push himself. Billy is proud of what his body can do, what it does for him, how it protects him—and he’s not ashamed to admit that.

His body is one of the only things he has control over, and he’s heard his share of people talking about how vain he is, how he shouldn’t spend so much time doing this or that. But he doesn’t give a fuck. He’s built a body he’s proud of and feels comfortable in, and truthfully he feels like everyone should be comfortable in their body without anyone else pushing them to look another way. 

Billy is leaning against his car, hands tangled in his hair in an effort to tie it up, a cigarette dangling loosely from his full lips when he sees you for the first time. 

He watches you get in your car, bag slung over your shoulder, interested only because he never sees another soul here this early. 

You’re pretty, he thinks. Your hairline shines in the morning sunlight, damp with sweat, your neck the same. Your sports bra peeks through your pale shirt, and one of your slouchy socks is hiked up higher than the other. You’ve clearly just finished working out, but he thinks you look breathtaking. 

There’s something about you. Something light and sweet that he can feel even from this distance, like something is telling him you have a good soul. 

The next time Billy sees you, you come out of the door looking frustrated—he assumes at yourself. He doesn’t want to bother you, but he would like to talk to you at some point. 

You turn around when you go to unlock your car door and lock eyes with him. Your heart stutters at the fact that someone has caught you, probably knows you were exercising. But he is gorgeous. You give him a small smile, and climb into the driver's seat. All you can think on the drive home is that it must be nice to be so effortlessly gorgeous. 

————

You continue on this way for weeks. Close to a month. You workout, you wave and acknowledge one another. This other person who you share this tiny thing with and who you are not judged by. 

On this particular day, you decide to be brave though. You packed a swimsuit, and you’re going to speak to that gorgeous boy and hope he doesn’t get freaked out by you. 

You place your weights back on the rack, the muscles in your thighs pulsing, your arms feeling like jelly. You’ve only worked your way up to the set of fifteens, but that’s something, right? 

You’re sweating, and dread walking outside into the swath of steadily climbing heat and humidity. Your heart pounds at the prospect of speaking to him. 

With your bag over your shoulder, you push open the door and step outside, jumping almost immediately. “Shit!” 

Billy laughs at your reaction, both because he hadn’t expected to frighten you, and because your jolt was pretty entertaining to witness. 

“I’m sorry,” he chuckles, “I didn’t mean to make you lose your shit, it’s just too hot to stand anywhere without shade.”

You lean against the cool metal door behind you. “Fuck,” you sigh. “My survival skills are clearly not what they should be.”

Billy laughs into his drink, taking a swig from the Coke he bought at the vending machine. 

“You headed out?” he asks, subconsciously fussing with a belt loop. 

“Well, yeah, I was. But um, I was going to ask a favor from you, if that’s okay?” You must sound like a dumbass, speaking to this man for the very first time, only to ask him for something.

“Shoot,” Billy responds.

“Do you think it’d be okay for me to swim a few laps in the pool? I know it’s not open yet, and I haven’t even told you my name, but I promise not to be a bother or anything. I just kind of wanted a chance to swim when there was no one else around, you know?”

Billy finishes his drink and tosses the can in the recycling bin inches from your hip. It lands with a resounding ping. 

You start to think this was a very stupid idea, and that maybe you should’ve just kept yourself at home like always.

“You can totally say no—”

“Yeah, sure I don’t see why not—”

Your words clash together and the both of you start to laugh. You raise your hand, gesturing for him to continue his thought. 

“It’s fine by me if you swim a little. I doubt you’re gonna trash the place.” He grins at you, dimples forming in his cheeks. “I’m Billy, by the way.”

A heat rises up your neck and washes over the tips of your ears. You tell him your name and thank him for letting you bend the rules. 

“Ah, fuck the rules. It’s just a community pool,” he winks, opening up the gate for you and telling you to have at it. 

You’d put your one-piece on underneath your workout clothes this morning, and you try to ignore the prick of shame, even disgust, that you feel having put your body in it as you wade into the pool. 

The water is cool, and as it drenches you, you feel lighter, somehow. You swim out to the deep end and push off the wall with your toes, propelling yourself underwater and kicking for as long as you can go while holding your breath. 

The little girl that still lives within your soul leaps to the surface, giddy with each push off the wall, each stroke of your arms underneath the water. She is excited. Free. 

She isn’t thinking about what your stomach looks like in this swimsuit or how stupid you probably look with your sloppy swimming skills. 

You swim for maybe twenty minutes, or at least until your shoulders are aching. You kick over to the wall, hoisting yourself up just that little bit so you can prop your elbows up on the warming concrete. 

You feel so light here that it almost makes you forget why you came. 

You hear footsteps and Billy appears from around the corner, a fluffy white towel in hand. 

“You getting out? I figured I’d come and make sure you hadn’t drowned.” 

You giggle. The sound makes him smile, pearly white teeth on display. Your eyes are drawn to his, where the summer sun has multiplied his freckles so much that they blanket his nose and the tops of his cheeks, washing over his temples. 

“I appreciate you looking out for my safety,” you say, climbing up the short ladder. Billy holds out a hand to help you steady yourself as you stand. You’re hesitant to take it because you’re all wet, but your hand moves before your mind takes control. “Thank you.” You give him a shy smile.

He grins at you and hands you the towel. You wrap it around your shoulders and follow him back under the awning when he starts walking away. Billy leans up against the cold brick wall and you stand, a little nervously, in front of him, trying to think of what to say. 

“I’ll admit, uh, it’s been nice to see someone else here so early in the mornings.” Billy lets out a huff of a laugh. “I was gonna ask though, why’d you pick this shithole to workout in?”

You pull the damp towel tighter against your torso. “It’s a quiet shithole,” you say. “And this whole exercising thing is pretty new to me, you know? I didn’t want to be somewhere people could see me like that.”

You realize how self-deprecating that comment was, realize you’re being too upfront, and try to quickly cover your ass. “What about you?” you ask, daring to make eye contact just to make sure he’s not disturbed. 

“Well, it came with the job,” he laughs, “and I love working out. Always have. Plus, it might be a shitty place, but the older equipment is a lot better than what newer gyms are using. So it works for me.”

Huh. 

“Oh. Nice.” You chew on your thumbnail. What a fuckup you are. 

Billy tilts his head, trying to encourage your gaze to raise to his. “What just happened?” he asks, a teasing lilt to his voice. 

You look at him, his sunglasses pushed up into his hair and arms crossed in front of his chest. “It’s nothing…I just don’t really know what to say to someone who enjoys the gym? Who has a positive relationship with it and everything.”

A crease forms between Billy’s brows. “You’ve been crazy consistent with it, but you don’t like it?” He asks you, but based on your body language and how you’ve acted the past month every time you head out, everything adds up and Billy knows the answer before it even leaves your mouth. 

You shake your head, ashamed that you even brought this up. “No,” you laugh nervously. “I hate it. I only started because I’m unhappy with myself? So it’s more of a punishment than something that brings me joy.”

Billy’s chest squeezes at your words. That is exactly why he started working out all those years ago. To make himself stronger because he was ashamed his father had power over him. Because he wasn’t good enough for anyone, so out of anger he made himself more powerful.

But he doesn’t want you to feel that way. You shouldn’t be working out purely to punish yourself for some absurd reason your mind has come up with. 

And even though Billy has had very minimal interactions with you, he likes you. He wouldn’t wish the horrible thoughts he’s had for himself on anyone else, but he gets the feeling you already know. 

“Well, I’m not gonna berate you or nothin.’ But uh, if you ever want help, or want to workout together so it’s not so miserable, let me know alright?”

You smirk at him, hoping to make the situation a bit less awkward. “Are you implying you’re the reason working out would become less miserable?”

Billy laughs, glad to see you’re not totally opposed to the idea of him offering help. “Yeah. But really, you shouldn’t have to hate it y’know? If I can help you figure out not to hate it…I’d like to try. And we could get to know each other better.”

Billy fidgets with the lighter in his pocket. He’s weaned off cigarettes, but he keeps loads of lighters around so he has something to occupy his hands with. If not, it’s usually not a good situation for him to be in. 

Your heart squeezes at the genuine quality in his words. You feel like you’re a lost cause at this point, but there’s a big part of you, the soft and squishy and easily flustered one, that wants to take him up on this offer. 

You nod, wrapping up your towel so you can drop it in the bin and go get changed. “Okay. I’ll think about it, Billy. Promise.”

————

“One more.”

“I can’t, Billy. I told you, I’m not strong enough for this shit.”

You swear when you’re frustrated. Billy has learned that over the past few weeks. 

He crouches, leveling with you. Your knee bounces, the dumbbells in your hands sitting on the tops of your thighs. “Yes, you can. You’re already up to twenty-fives for your presses. Try one more for me and then you can rest a minute.”

Your eyes well with tears that you quickly blink away as you settle back against the bench. This is the point in a workout where you just start to hate yourself. You think it��s pointless, you know you’re body hasn’t changed enough, you feel like total shit—everything just feels fucked.

You use your knees to help lift the dumbbells and slowly lift them to the appropriate height, making sure to protect your shoulders like Billy taught you. You inhale and raise them up. Your arms are shaking, especially your non-dominant one which is really fighting this shoulder press, and you’re not sure you’ll be able to lift them fully until you do. 

“Fuck, yeah!” Billy’s voice reaches your ears just as you’re lowering your arms, completely out of breath. You set the dumbbells on the floor. 

Billy is thrilled for you. He can see the progress you’re making, how much stronger you are and less hesitant to try new exercises.

When you look up at him the expression on your face tells him you are not thrilled. 

“Hey, hey, hey, what’s the matter?”

You stand and walk over to the mirror that covers one whole wall. You put your hands on your hips and bite the inside of your cheek. “Billy, will you look at me, honestly?” You gesture to your body. “This is the matter. I don’t look any different than the first day I showed up here, do I? Even if I’ve been busting my ass, I’ll just never—”

You stop, rubbing your hands down your face and over your bloodshot eyes. 

“You’ll never what?” Billy locks eyes with you in the mirror. 

You set a hand on your chest, nails digging into your skin. “My body will never be good enough for me. I’ll always look at every other person that walks by, jealous that they have the figure I want and I’ll never have. Why did I have to get stuck with this shit? Why couldn’t I be given a body that I’d be happy with. Life if fucking hard enough, why couldn’t I have this one thing?”

“And you’re just so effortlessly gorgeous, you know that? I wish it was that easy for me, too. It’s just like, why am I even doing this anymore when I know I’ll never look the way other women do? I’m bullshitting myself, aren’t I, Billy? Working out like it’s gonna do anything.”

You exhale and drag your arm across your nose, avoiding Billy’s gaze. 

“Hey. Look at me.” Billy’s tone is firm. “Listen for a second, will you?”

“You are getting stronger. You’re using heavier weights all around. Shit, you’re up to fifty for your deadlifts. Hold your arm up for me—yeah, and squeeze, yep. Look at that.” 

He taps his index and middle finger on your bicep, on the bit of muscle you’ve grown and shape you’ve built. “You are absolutely not bullshitting yourself, you hear me? If anything, you’re bullshitting yourself by thinking you can’t be happy in this body. You don’t have to look like other women. Who the fuck put that idea in your head? I don’t know if you see how I look at you, but I think you’re gorgeous, and I love to see you becoming more comfortable in the movements you do, in your own strength. Your body does so fuckin’ much for you.”

Billy is still keeping eye contact with you in the mirror. You can feel the warmth of him behind you, and you swear you sweat more because you know he’s right and you know you are getting stronger but fuck you just can’t believe that. You look at him and you just wish you were that lithe, that comfortable in your own skin. 

“I’m doing this with you—hey, take a deep breath, alright?” He clocks the way you’re shaking out your hands, trying to keep yourself from breaking. Crying. Screaming out of frustration. “I’m doing this with you because I used to be just like this, you hear me?” 

He hates being vulnerable, fucking despises it, but he knows that giving you this information, giving you this little pathway into his life just might save you right now. 

“I worked out all through junior high and high school because I fuckin’ hated myself, and I thought if I could get bigger, if I could make myself look intimidating, then maybe other people wouldn’t treat me like shit. That part worked in some places, but I didn’t like myself any more because I hadn’t sorted through any of my mental shit.”

He says your name. Slowly. You like the way it sounds when he says it, hating the way it sounds when it leaves your own lips. 

“I know we aren’t all that close yet, but I see so much fuckin’ potential in you. I’m not gonna let you suffer with all this shit alone. I know you hate your body, but this is the one you were given, and there’s no point spending so much time destroying yourself over that simple fact.”

You turn around to face him, your hands on the sides of your neck, rubbing as if that will stop the emotion from rising in your throat. It doesn’t work. Billy’s eyes move back and forth between yours, across your face, tracking every change in your expression. He recognizes what you’re doing, trying to suppress all of this. 

“C’mere.”

You go before your mind can fight back. Billy takes you in his arms, tucking your face into his chest, resting his chin on your shoulder. 

You breathe unsteadily into his skin. You don’t care that he smells like sweat and you smell like sweat and that you’re shaking and tears are slipping from your eyes. His arms are strong, and the feeling of his biceps squeezing you closer, his hands running up and down your back, it makes it all feel like it’s okay. 

“It’s just so fucking hard, Billy,” you mumble, lifting your head up slightly. “It’s not fair. I just want to be pretty and normal and have a body I can accept like everyone else.”

Billy gently touches his index finger just below your chin, coaxing your gaze up to meet his. “I know it is. And I mean it when I say that you are pretty. Honestly, you gotta think about how many ‘pretty’ people there are out there, people who have the bodies the tabloids tell them to have—and are absolute dicks. Hell, that’s how I was in high school.”

Your eyes crinkle at the corners, signaling that he did get a little joy in you having admitted that, even if it’s not a full on smile. His thumb swipes down your cheek, mopping up the little track left by a tear. 

“Point is, this, what I’m holding right now, is your body. No one else would know it like you do, know how to take care of it, know where each mark has come from or each thing you’ve put it through. Each thing it’s gotten you through. You can accept it, because I’m going to help you get to a point where you can look in the mirror and not shit-talk yourself.”

You pull back a little, pressing the palms of your hands to your face, your elbows slightly poking the top of Billy’s rib cage. “I’m just so scared.”

“I got you, you hear me?” He pulls your shirt away from your collarbones just so it’s not sticking to your skin so much. “You don’t need to be scared. Not with me.”

You nod. And you keep doing that until it feels a little more believable. 

————

Billy can’t stop looking at you. 

And he really needs to focus before he runs off the sidewalk and into the road. 

But for the first time in the few months he’s known you, you look free. You look happy. You look all of these things and you’re running. There’s a baseball cap perched backwards on your head, one of his from forever ago that he lent (gave) you when you mentioned you didn’t have any. 

He can smell the sunscreen you’ve slathered all over yourself, see the sweat dripping down your spine. This is the first time you’ve felt brave enough to go out in just a sports bra and a cropped sweatshirt, bright colored biker shorts covering the tops of your thighs. Your frilly socks make it too, just because it shows how much more comfortable you’ve gotten with doing this. 

It turns out you never hated running. You just needed to do it in a different atmosphere, with different thoughts running through your head. And having a good running partner helps, too. 

“There’s a bench up here if you want to rest a second before we finish,” Billy says through a rather aggressive exhale. You’re glad the sun is setting, because that makes it so much cooler than when you try to run in the morning with the sun beating down on you and seeping into your veins.

You sit down, taking a long drink from your water. Billy crouches on the sidewalk, shaking out his hair and retying the mess of a bun he was wearing. 

“You’re doing so good today,” he tells you, winking at you from his place just a few inches to your left. 

You grin into your water bottle. “How long was that?” you ask. 

He rises and sits down next to you, his arm slung behind your back on the bench. His thumb brushes the shell of your ear, rubs over the little hoop you’re wearing. You watch as he does a little math in his head, checking out where exactly you are. “Little over two miles, bee.” 

Bee. Your heart skips every time he says that. It’s a very new thing, but it sort of slipped out one day, and you’ve loved it ever since. 

“What movie you wanna see this weekend, honeybee? My treat.”

When you’d asked why he chose that name for you, he’d teased at first, telling you it was just because you’re so damn sweet. But really it was a little more sappy than that. 

“Well, you are sweet. And bubbly when you want to be. But think about how much shit those little fuckers get done. How persistent and focused. They’re all cute and fuzzy n’ whatever, but they’re like, badass lil’ things, y’know?” 

Your knee bounces excitedly on the pavement. “Really?” That’s the farthest you’ve run so far. And you didn’t even hate it. You had…fun.

Billy laughs, throwing his head back a little and bearing his neck to you. It shines with sweat and it almost looks like he’s glowing. “Fuck yeah. You’ve been kicking my ass this week. I hate running.”

“But you do it with me,” you say.

“But I do it with you.”

You reach over your shoulder and squeeze his hand. “I like running better when it’s with you. Just for the record.” He squeezes back, lifting your hand up gently to press his lips to it. 

“I’m proud of you, you know that?”

A crease forms between your brows as you meet his gaze. “What for?”

“For not giving up.” You start to argue with him, but he continues before you can belittle yourself even the slightest bit. “You’ve kept at this, at trying to get yourself stronger and to try and feel more comfortable in what your body can do. I know you probably still wish you looked like some fuckin’ model or some shit, but I can see how much you’ve eased up, you know?” 

You nod, giving him a small smile. “I do still wish that sometimes. It would be easier. But I’m getting better, I think. I hate to tell you you’re right—,” he shoots you that cocky, prideful grin, “but my body does do a lot for me. I’m starting to accept that it can do a lot for me…” 

You trail off, tapping the toes of your sneakers on the concrete below you. “And I did squat with the bar and those little plates yesterday without a spot.” 

The spot in question was watching you carefully from a few feet away, ready to sprint if you needed help. 

“Yes, you did, bee. You’re kicking ass.” That dimple forms in his cheek, and you know he’s about to say something smart. “Speaking of ass—”

You stand abruptly, turning around quickly so that the area he’s speaking of isn’t directly in his face. You’ve learned he has a staring problem, specifically with that part of you. Not that you mind. Maybe that’s where your pride comes in.

————

The sun has slipped beneath the horizon by the time Billy slips his key into the gate, pulling it securely shut behind him. The first spattering of stars are trying to show in the purple-blue sky. 

The pool is calm, empty, and lit only by the pale bulbs built into it and the two light poles on either side of the patio. 

It was Billy’s idea to sneak in for a late night swim. He thought it would be fun, and he knows you hate swimming in an overcrowded pool. But truthfully, he just wanted to give you another space where you could feel completely without judgment and just exist. 

“What’s the plan here, Billy? I didn’t even think about taking a detour to get a swimsuit.” 

It’s true, you’ve felt so carefree around him that you weren’t overthinking, overanalyzing a scenario like this. You weren’t worried about running inside and finding the most full coverage bathing suit you have because you’re afraid of Billy seeing your body. But right now…you just feel calm. Your body isn’t perfect, but it’s okay if he at least sees your legs. 

Billy is already slipping off his shoes and taking off his shirt. “That’s because the point of this is being spontaneous, bee.” He walks to the far end of the pool and dives in, just in his little running shorts, before you can even blink. 

You’re nervous, just that little bit because this is so different from something you’d usually do, and now you’re just stripping? You’re just living and having a good time? Who the fuck are you?

You step out of your own shorts and pull off your socks. You’re left in your underwear and your little cropped sweatshirt. You register, as you walk down the stairs, that your underwear are blue, and you look just like Lisa from Weird Science. It makes you smile. 

You track Billy’s movements once you're up to your waist and realize he’s heading for you. He squeezes your ankle beneath the water before coming to the surface, a wide grin on his face. His necklace is stuck around his back and on instinct you reach out to straighten it. 

His eyes drag up and down your figure. “Hi, gorgeous.” The low drawl of his voice makes the tips of your ears burn. 

You wade a little deeper into the water, circling behind him. When you’re drenched up to your chest, you splash him. Billy cackles. It is possibly the most joyous sound you’ve ever heard. 

He dives for your waist, hooking an arm around you and swimming off, making you howl with laughter before you have to hold your own breath when he pulls you out deeper than you are tall.

He hoists you up out of the water and gently tosses you to the side, letting you fall into the water on your back. The adrenaline coursing through your veins is magical. 

You keep playing with him, playing, like you’re both kids who’ve never been in a pool before, until you’ve run through most of your energy. You try and teach him a game you played as a child, where one person spreads their legs and your goal is to swim between them without touching their skin, even as they move their legs closer together each time. 

It’s silly, because you inevitably know you’ll touch your opponents legs, but it’s fun. You don’t think about anything else when you do it. He teases you though, trapping you with his calves most times so you automatically lose. 

Now though, you and Billy stand nose to nose, at a depth where you’re not up to your chin so that you can actually speak to him. “This was a really good idea,” you tell him. You push some of his wet hair out of his face and then, rather than pulling away, you set your hands on his shoulders. 

He wraps his arms around your waist. “This okay?” he asks, lowering one arm so he can show you he wants to lift you up. You give him a sweet yes. 

Billy’s hand grips your thigh, coaxing you upward so you can get your legs around his back. You adjust your arms behind his head, him respectfully keeping his hands on the backs of your thighs. He steps back just that little bit more so he can submerge himself further in the water now that you’re held up. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile for this long before,” Billy says. His blue eyes flick back and forth between your own. 

“You’ve given me a lot more reasons to.” Your hand cups his cheek and he swears he could fucking collapse. You’re so gentle with him and Billy never knew he even wanted that. But now he craves it. Craves you. 

That cocky smirk you’ve started to recognize before it even begins makes an appearance. “Yeah? Can I give you one more reason to?”

You hum in agreement, and then Billy is pressing his lips to yours. They’re damp and he tastes a little like chlorine, but…he was right. You smile brilliantly into the kiss, and you’re not sure you stop the rest of the night either. 

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

note: none of the gifs or images i use are mine! i get most of my images from pinterest or here, and gifs from about the same. please let me know if i ever don’t credit someone properly!

[ickle-ronniekins]

heart on your sleeve, george x reader

request: from anon: “Can we have a super fluffy George story with these prompts? “Am I bothering you?” “What’s the magic word?” “Can I be honest with you?” I’m so in love with your writing!!!” | omg, STOP. this made my day! thank you for your kind words, i can’t even stand it, i love writing for you guys and missed it so much—it’s people like you that keep me motivated! i smiled like a goof when i received these prompts...i hope you like it darling!! also oops this is kind of long i got carried away, yiiiiikes

prompts: “am i bothering you?”, “what’s the magic word?”, “can i be honest with you?”

warnings: the inability to deal w anything bc weasley men are perf

The Great Hall

Clank! A box hit the table with a loud noise and I nearly jumped out of my seat. Many students from the other tables look our way, but quickly went back to their dinner. I was busy biting into a piece of chicken, when two lanky redheads sat down on either side of me.

“Just two more days,” the first said, “Until we finally see—”

“—who the real Hogwarts champion is!”

Their enthusiasm was welcomed, but they seemed to be a little too excited about the upcoming Triwizard Tournament challenges. “First off, it’s a lot longer than two more days,” I told them and watched as their smiles drooped. “Secondly, how d’you know it’ll be a Hogwarts champion? Fleur Delacour could take home the entire bloody tournament, or Krum, perhaps? Don’t put all your sickles in one basket, boys.”

Fred and George were silent a moment. I thought that maybe, maybe I’d finally gotten the last word in, but of course I was wrong. They both began animatedly chatting about the first challenge.

“How could you even think that, Y/N?”

“It’s definitely going to be either Harry or Cedric,”

“Those tosspots from the other schools don’t even stand a chance,”

“Hogwarts is the superior wizarding school!”

I swatted their hands and said, “Oh hush, would you? Your allegiance towards Hogwarts is truthfully beautiful, boys, but I’d rather not have a Durmstrang pick a fight with either one of you because you swore your truth so bloody loud.”

They ignored this and continued on. To me, Fred said, “D’you want to place bets with us?”

“Yeah, for the upcoming challenges!” George chimed in.

I looked at their box on the table. It had already been halfway filled, and many students were peering at the twins excitedly. I’m sure everyone was just as enthralled with the idea of placing bets on who’d win each challenge, let alone the entire Triwizard Tournament. The goblet was sitting atop a pedestal at the front of the Great Hall where the professors were chatting animatedly about the tournament, no doubt, and delving into the delicious feast in front of them.

I shut the box, and Fred and George glanced at one another before turning their attention back towards me. “Can we eat first?”

“Absolutely not,” Fred said. “This is important business to take care of, Y/N! We only have so much time!”

George poked me in the ribs and I couldn’t help but laugh. “Quit it,” I told him, but he wouldn’t stop. I nearly knocked over my entire plate of food, but I didn’t really care that much. “Knock it off,”

George didn’t stop. “Am I bothering you? Say the magic woooord!” he sang, completely sarcastic by the sounds of it. He finally gave in when he saw tears forming in my eyes from laughing so hard, and I had regained enough composure to point towards the food.

The twins groaned in unison. “Fine,” George said. “But you’re not getting out of this that easy, Y/N.”

I took a scoop full of mashed potatoes and plopped it down onto his plate. “Eat up, Georgie.”

The First Challenge, After

The Gryffindor common room was absolutely buzzing. The surprise of the real life dragons on Hogwarts grounds had died down a bit, and everyone was now focused on Harry defeating his and preparing for the next challenge. Fred and George had hoisted Harry up onto their arms while the common room cheered. The fire roared, and butterbeer was being passed around in large amounts to warm everyone up from their day in the cold. I was able to snag an armchair that had been left unattended, and I felt a body sit down next to me. I could almost hear his smile. “Having a day, aren’t you?”

“A bloody good one at that,” George gulped down some of his butterbeer. The tip of his nose was still pink from being outside and he wrapped his hands tightly around his cup. “Any thought of joining us in placing our bets?”

“I dunno, George,” I told him truthfully. “You two are sort of ripping off all the first and second years, aren’t you?” I winked.

He scoffed. “Ripping them off? Hardly, darling. We’re merely teaching them early. You can never start too young. Listen, just say the word, and you’re in. Truthfully, I think Freddie’s going to lose. He is putting all of his sickles into one basket. I’m taking your advice, though—I kind of think maybe one of the other two will take the entire tournament.”

“Oh yeah?” I asked, now completely enthralled. Next to me, the fire was raging. “And who’re you thinking will win this?”

George thought for a moment. “Maybe Krum—he was bloody brilliant at the Quidditch World Cup.”

Someone began to blast music from the other side of the common room. It was the late hours of the evening now, and while my four poster seemed rather inviting, I knew I wouldn’t be able to get any sleep with this celebration going on. He watched as Harry lifted up the golden egg, his eyes sparkling. I suddenly felt a strong wave of empathy towards him.

“I know you wanted to enter,” I said, remembering his and Fred’s ingenious plan of tricking the goblet with their aging potion. I thought about how terrifying the first task was, and I was just as nervous for number two. It felt better to have George next to me in the stands instead of out in the pitch, battling a dragon. “But I’m kind of glad you couldn’t.”

He looked at me quizzically, and then grinned a little—however, he still seemed confused. “Why?”

My heart began to beat, thinking of either him or Fred out there, doing these dangerous tasks—getting hurt, losing—or worse. “Because, I couldn’t handle either of you out there!” I exclaimed. “That would be horrible! I genuinely do not understand how your brother or Hermione are dealing with Harry being in this tournament. If it was either of you two, truthfully, I dunno if I’d be able to watch—I mean, you’re my best friends! I’d rather have you next to me, spectating.”

George’s cheeky grin softened, and I could tell that I touched him in a way. It was a small, intimate moment, when his twin came in and ended it abruptly.

“Y/N...that is just the absolute sweetest thing I have ever heard. Hear that, Georgie? She just couldn’t handle us being out there,”

I rolled my eyes. Fred plopped down on the floor beside me and began to poke at my shoes. He continued to laugh, and more and more students came over to sit by us and wanted to place more bets with the twins. And although George was now tangled up in his business, he kept throwing me glances and those soft smiles and I felt a twinge in my heart. I knew it had meant more to him then he let on, what I said. His eyes were glistening with a new type of confidence and passion that I knew just couldn’t be from the bets.

The Yule Ball, After

By Christmas Eve night, the grounds were covered in a few inches of snow. It continued to fall softly—not in a blustery sort of way—all day long, creating a beautiful blanket of white. Everyone had been bustling around like crazy all day long—doing their best to try and get ready for the Yule Ball in an orderly fashion. I wasn’t too concerned.

The night absolutely flew by. It started out with a gorgeous dance in a magnificently decorated Great Hall, followed by dinner and dessert. After that, the real party had begun. Students of Hogwarts, Durmstrang, and Beauxbatons had finally all come together despite their differences and the rest of the impending tournament. After a while, it had become rather stuffy and sweaty in there—I just had to get out.

I wrapped my shawl around me and made my way for the doors. The cool, wintry air hit my skin with force, but it felt wonderful. I sat on a nearby bench and watched as the snow fell lightly to the ground. It was still and silent. Suddenly, I heard footsteps. I tugged at my shawl and pulled it tighter around my shoulders when George stepped into view.

“Hey,” he made his way over towards me. “What’re you doing out here? It’s freezing.”

“Just needed to step away for a moment,” I told him. “This night has been a whirlwind! Just needed some fresh air.” He sat down next to me and I let my shawl fall off of my shoulders. I turned towards him and asked, “Hey, how did it go with that Beauxbatons girl Freddie was trying to get you to dance with? Did she place any bets?” I winked.

He peered at me with a sparkle in his eye. His demeanor was calmer than usual, which was strange to me—he and his brother were always doing this or that, going somewhere or planning something next. But here, in the snow, on Christmas Eve, he was sitting here, completely relaxed and content, no plans in sight.

“Can I be honest with you?” he asked me.

I was sort of taken off guard. Nearby, a couple was twirling in the snow, sharing kisses in the moonlight and the snowflakes. I turned back towards George. “Of course you can.”

“I don’t care about that Beauxbatons girl,” he told me truthfully. “I only care about you. I was going to ask you to this, you know, as a date...but you were so set on the two of us and Freddie going as a group, I didn’t want to stomp all over your plans,” he chuckled lightly. Snowflakes were melting atop his eyelashes now and his red hair looked fiery against the backdrop of the pearl white snow. He peered at me solemnly. “I don’t think I’d be able to handle you being out there either—you know, in the tournament.”

My heart raced. Bloody finally. It’d taken me years of strict concentration to not wear my heart on my sleeve in front of him. It didn’t work very well, though. Fred had figured it out almost immediately, and I made him swear not to say anything. Either George knew, but didn’t tell me, or Fred really did keep his promise and George genuinely could not tell that I’d always been mad for him. It didn’t really matter, in the end. I placed my hand on top of his and glanced at his watch. After midnight. It was Christmas Day. “I reckon there’s time for one more dance. Care to join me?”

George stood up and took my hand. “As long as you promise not to step on my feet,” he winked.

“Oh, now what’s the fun in that?” I asked him teasingly. “It’s Christmas! Your first present—an absolutely terribly awkward dance with me. C’mon, I promise you’ll love it.”

The Great Hall was nearly empty, which gave me an excess amount of room to trip and stumble, no doubt. George wrapped his arms around my waist and began to twirl me. “This is a pretty good Christmas gift,” he said, and placed a light kiss on top of my nose. I could feel my cheeks turn rosy and warm—the same way my insides felt when he leaned in close to me and continued, “In fact—the best.”

[sheepishlyshippingsheep]

Izuocha prompt: Deku and Ochako ask for dating advice from Todoroki and Momo respectively. Both pairs decide to have Deku and Ochako go in to their next date with a hidden earpiece, with feed directly from Todoroki and Momo. Chaos ensues.

[Hello! Thank you so much for joining my birthday prompt. This one was more specific than I had expected but when I read this, I laughed out loud because of what I imagined. Hope you enjoy the following 1000+ words and the arts! I had super fun making these and got a bit carried away too!]

[For others, I am accepting requests until end of September and I hope you enjoy this post as well.]

“Compliment”

“To-todoroki-kun… Are you sure about this?”

“Yes.” A prompt and straightforward reply.

“You’re not?” his really calm and innocent (if Izuku must call it by the tone) follow-up coming from that pin-like device near the green-haired lad’s left ear somehow makes the latter more nervous than he should be or he should have been.

“Well…” Izuku does not even know how to piece together his response. Here he is bothering Shouto on his free day and he actually has the audacity to doubt his friend who offered to help him? Before he can fall to one of his rambling episodes–

“I’ll do it,” he manages to say.

"Okay.”

Designed by Mei Hatsume to easily blend with his green hair except for that small button sharing the same color as its inventor’s hair, Izuku marches to the café that he and Ochako decided to meet; wearing the hidden earpiece.

When he had asked the support course student if she had a spare communication device best for stealth missions that could possibly help him, the pink-haired was too ecstatic to help him even if he had not specified what he needed it for.

With no questions asked, Mei handed him the pin and an earpiece resembling an earplug which is supposed to be for the other line. Both devices look like toys especially with the striking pink color it had, he had noted when she showed it to him.

“This really cute pair of babies here are perf,” Izuku remembers her saying.

Mei is not the type to send some warnings about her ‘babies’ ( as he is both a witness and victim to the circumstances) and he just hopes that nothing is wrong with these transmitting devices.

Spotting the brown-haired girl seated already, Izuku barely feels his feet moving, too entranced by how she looks today to register his movements and surroundings.

There she is, in an unfamiliar pink dress that nonetheless suits her. 

The lad approaches the table, noting how her exposed shoulders jolt the slightest when he comes close. He could not help but feel the same line of nerves from those little reactions to his arrival.

However, when he finally sees her flushed face that is unable to look at him directly, Izuku forgets how to breathe for a second, if not for Shouto actually telling him to “Breathe, Midoriya.”

“Y-yeah,” he whispers back.

The tactic is simple: Have Shouto Todoroki guide no-girlfriend-since-birth Izuku on his very first date. What could possibly go wrong?

–

“Ya-yaomomo… Will this be really fine?” she asks in her softest voice, a couple of fingertips touching the clip near her right ear. Though the device was carefully Created by Momo to disguise itself as a hair clip that matched the clothes she had lent her, Ochako is pretty sure that talking to herself while seated in the cafe would make her look weird.

Or maybe, everything right now is just weird, because Ochako in her whole life never thought that Deku-kun, her crush, would ever ask her out on a date.

“There is no need to worry, Uraraka-san. All you have to do is to listen to what I have to say. Please try your best to calm down. I am here to help you.”

With a gulp, Ochako gives her an “Okay. Thank you so much” letting her left hand pat her chest. 

You’ll be fine, Ochako. Yaomomo taught you the way of the lady, remember?

Right. When Izuku asked her out the other day and left as a stuttering mess after hearing her say yes, Ochako had floated to the ceiling the moment he was out of the hallway. Coincidentally, Momo’s arrival at the scene marked her as the Zero-Gravity-quirk-user’s official savior – both for helping her come down and for offering to guide her on her first-ever date.

"Now is the best time to bring that smile out. Midoriya-san is here in six seconds.”

Lips numbing to a practiced smile, Ochako sits (too) straight, her hands forming to fists on her lap.

“I’m-I’m sorry I’m late Uraraka-san,” his shaky voice enters her ears with the very first thing he tells her. Ochako could not see how he looks right now, too nervous to actually meet his eyes - or his whole face for the matter. Brown eyes darted to the ground, she can see his iconic red shoes, twitching as he stands. If her peripheral vision is not deceiving her, she is pretty sure that he is wearing a vest that matches that crimson color. She sure hopes that warmth on her face is not as red though.

“I-it’s okay, don’t worry about it, Deku-kun!” The way his name passed by her lips seems to be too loud that some of the people inside the cafe had to give them the looks. She realizes this and ducks her head down. What a mess she already is and it’s just the start!

“Uraraka-san, be more natural.”

Ochako tries to follow the instruction upon hearing Momo. Somehow, her voice casts a magic spell of calm on her and she feels so lucky to have her as a friend.

“It is okay. Just breathe for a second.”

She smiles again, the warm air leaving her nose.

“Please… have a seat, Deku-kun.” Her tone comes out in a fancier voice than the usual her. Those vocalization exercises with Momo surely worked. Her smile is now directed to him.

“You are doing great, Uraraka-san.”

“O-of course… sorry!” She hears him say as he takes the seat in front of her.

Finally, their eyes meet.

–

“Compliment her.”

“Wh-what!?” The expression comes out of him when he hears Shouto.

“Eh?” Now that is Ochako whom he sees, slowly spelling out confusion on her face.

“Oh-oh no… I just heard some… birds… yeah. Hahahaha…” His awkward laughter comes out loud enough that it attracts different pairs of eyes to their table again. This time, chuckles are heard in the air.

“O-okay…” She responds meekly.

Now Izuku wants to smack his face. This is more difficult than he thought.

“Tell her.”

Izuku feels his lips freeze as if Shouto’s right side is doing its work. Well, now that he thinks about it, his body has been on the cold side for hours now as this event came closer by the hour.

“Yaoyorozu told me it is common courtesy to give compliments.”

The freckled boy is almost amazed because it seems that Shouto did his ‘research’ except that he actually does not have the time to be amazed right now. Izuku had panicked after finally managing to ask Ochako to go out somewhere and when he had been trying his best to hide from everyone how anxious he actually is, Shouto just dropped the bomb in front of all the boys while they were changing for the next class, “Did you ask Uraraka out, Midoriya?”

“No one told me we weren’t supposed to ask” was Shouto’s defense when Tenya had reprimanded him for just dropping it like that and “shattering Midoriya-kun’s honor.”

And so, the half-fire-half-ice-quirk user promised to help Izuku as a way to pay back.

Izuku hears a sigh from the device. “Midoriya. Repeat after me.”

“Uraraka.”

The freckled boy clears his throat.

“U-uraraka-san…”

Ochako stares at Izuku the moment he had called her. The way his face makes that serious expression as if she is the only thing that he is looking at right now catches her off guard. But why?

His hair is still in that fluffy green signature look. He is still wearing those favorite shoes of his. He may be wearing a vest that she has never seen him wear before, but other than that, this is still Deku-kun. So… why is her heart unable to calm down just as how Momo kept reminding her?

Is it because there is this light in his eyes that she cannot explain? Or is it because of those growing shades of pink on his cheeks, now fainting his freckles?

“Uraraka-san, remember. Grace.”

“Y-yes?” she finally answers as she awaits for him to speak again.

Izuku looks at Ochako, blinking his green eyes, waiting for Shouto’s words from the device, but also taking the moment to just take in her features

Sure, she looks a bit different, with the way her hair is styled by that hairpin and by that dress she is wearing. But whatever she wore, may it be Uravity’s costume or UA’s uniform sets, she had always looked–

Beautiful. He opens his mouth to say that one word–

“Your quirk is useful in rescue situations. It is a great fit for an aspiring hero.”

“Your quirk is useful in rescue situations. It’s a great fit for an aspiring hero.”

The moment he says that, Izuku Midoriya knew that asking for Shouto’s help was not a bright idea at all.

END