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imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl · 4 years

Text

Love On-Set (Pt. 07 of 10)

Pairing: Dacre Montgomery X Reader

Summary: You knew acting on Stranger Things season 3 would be a challenge, and you also knew, from the start, you'd have to work closely with Dacre Montgomery. But is wasn't a big deal for you, since this is your job and you're determined to act professionally. You had it all figured out, or so you thought, until the moment you were out face to face with Dacre. Then, this job became a lot harder than it was supposed to be, since you can't seem to focus whenever you're around Dacre. And you'll have to be around him a lot until the end of production.

Word count: 3 K

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{Dacre Montgomery Masterlist}

{Stranger Things Masterlist}

Kisses

The only reason why you didn't talk to Dacre at the airport was because you thought you'd have a couple of hours before shooting. But you were wrong. The flight was terribly late, and you had no choice but to go straight to set, and as soon as you got there, you and Dacre were pulled apart so you could get ready.

Already in your outfit, you stare at the mirror as your hairstylist gives the final touches, mumbling in response to whatever she's talking about. Your leg is bouncing nervously, as you regret not having called Dacre yesterday night. Or driven to his house. Anything really. Maybe it would a lot easier if you two had some time, but life has a way of complicating things.

“And you're ready,” Laura says and you manage to smile and thank her. “Now go before James comes yelling at us again.”

“Alright.” Mumbling under your breath, you stand up and leave the dressing room only to be rushed into the parking lot. Dacre is already there, talking to James. The wind makes you shiver and you brace yourself... Well, you think it's the wind that makes you shiver, what else could it be?

“...despite the delay, we'll get everything done in time so–” James swallows the words when he sees you. “(Y/N), great. Hope you made a safe trip here. I was just talking to Dacre about the upcoming scenes you two will shoot. There's just so much chemistry that I had to add more kisses.” Oh... You should've read the new script. “But I'm sure it won't be a problem since you two seem to be getting along very well.”

“Yeah, of course...” The first thing you'll do when you get to your hotel room is read every single line of this scrip. It'll be better if you're mentally prepared for what's to come.

But you're not prepared for this.

“Alright, everybody into position.” The director announces before walking away, leaving you and Dacre alone. Well, not exactly since you can't ignore the camera guys, the microphones... All the rest.

“Sorry, we couldn't talk before... This.” Dacre apologizes, but you shake your head slightly.

“But we will.” Nodding more to yourself than to him, you hope nobody is listening to this conversation. “Right?”

“Absolutely.”

“Alright, guys, c'mon,” James says and Dacre walks away as you take a deep breath. Thinking over the lines, you let yourself fall into character, remembering the backstory that leads to this moment. “Everybody set? Ok... Action!”

Turning around, you look at Dacre as he crosses the parking lot. “I can't believe you took almost an hour to get here, Hargrove!” You yell, walking to end the distance between the two of you. “There's a freaking Demidog in the pool!”

“The thing is dead. So why the hurry?” He flashes Billy's a cocky smile, and you struggle to keep the irritated expression on your face. “Chill.”

“Don't tell me to chill. Can't you miss one single date?” Giving action to Amy's jealousy attack, you punch Dacre in the chest, and he gives a small step back as he rolls his eyes. “Not even when there's an interdimensional monster involved?”

“Why the hell you always think I'm with some girl?” When you move to push him again, Billy grabs Amy's wrists. This was improvised, you think. Or is it on the new script? Dacre's grip is soft though, and you put on an annoyed face as you try to set free, uselessly.

“Because that's where you always are.” Putting a frustrating undertone in the sentence, you sigh. “But it doesn't matter. We have a much bigger fish to fry.”

“The damn thing is dead, it can wait.”

You get why Amy falls for Billy. Or are your fellings for Dacre clouding your judgment? Putting up a fight, you try to free yourself of his grip, making sure to stumble backward until your back hits a car. “Let go of me! I'm tired of this shit.” Slowly, Amy gives up fighting. Physically and emotionally. The moment you stop moving, Dacre let's go of your wrists, his arms coming to trap you in between the car and his body.

“I know you're jealous. I just need to figure out why.” Billy leans closer, and you can feel yourself drowning in Dacre's eyes, more beautiful than the ocean.

“I said it once and I'll say it again. I won't be one of your many flings...” Your voice is low, and as the cameras move closer, you know it's about to happen. God, it's so damn hard to keep up the act. You can feel Dacre's chest every time he breaths in, and you want to pull him even closer. “...so... Back the hell off.” Putting your hand on his chest, you know that the action that would make more sense here would be Amy trying to push him away again... But you fail to do that, Amy slowly disappearing as you break character for the hundredth time. Instead of pushing him away, your fingers slowly clench around the collar of his jacket, grabbing it. Dacre's eyes burn on you, and you know he wants it to.

“Who said I want you to be a fling?”

Then you don't know who moves first. If it's Dacre who leans forward or if it's you, pulling him. But it happens, fast and needy. First kisses shouldn't be like this. They're supposed to be short and sweet, shy even. But part of you is thankful for the situation you're in right now, because it justifies how you cling onto him, how deep the kiss is, hot and passionate. Billy and Amy were both craving for this moment, but so were you. And so were Dacre because his grip around you is tight, his lips keeping a quick pace, one that you're more than happy to follow. You hand find its way to his hair, as he holds the small of your back, needing to have you closer, if that even possible. The cameras are long forgotten, and there's no set, no show, nothing. Just his taste, fresh and sweet, inebriating. There's something in the background, some familiar sound trying to reach you, but you push it away, ignore it, tiptoeing even more to try and match Dacre's high, wishing he would lift you up.

“CUT!” James' voice sounds like a freaking thunder, and it wakes you up. With your heart beating insanely fast, you suddenly go back to reality, probably blushing harder than ever as you step away from Dacre. He takes a while to let go of you, intense eyes locked on yours as he tries to catch his breath, falling out of the stupor too. “That was... Good. That was good.” James says, and when you look around, you notice people staring. That wasn't... Discreet, and now you know that what you heard was James yelling ‘cut’ half a dozen times.

Running a hand through your hair, you have to fight back the urge to touch your lips, the kiss burning in your head... You really hope James will need another take.

“Are you ok?” Dacre asks, taking a quick look around before taking your hand in his.

“Yeah...” Biting your lip, you nod, staring at him. This just gave you a rush of adrenaline, making you feel brave. “More than ok, actually.”

Dacre's lips break into a smile, his thumb caressing the back of your hand. “Well, judging by James' obsession with the perfect lighting, I bet he'll need a couple more takes to get it done.”

“I really hope so. I–” You're cut short for a commotion. Several people move to surround James, who soon starts cursing. “What's going on?” You mutter, exchanging a glance with Dacre before walking over the sea of people. That's when you see the rest of the cast, and you just now remember they were here too... And they just saw everything... Millie won't let you hear the end of it.

“Who the hell did this?” James shouts, and a lot of people start apologizing. Giving the others a glance, you notice they have their eyes glued to their phones.

“Oh, no...” Something leaked, you're so damn sure. Rushing to the guys, you stand beside Noah, taking a look at his screen. “What happened?”

“The kiss. The first you shot. Someone here recorded and published on YouTube ten minutes ago.” As Noah speaks, he hands you over his phone and you read the news article he was reading. ‘Exciting scene from Stranger Things 3 leaks: Amy Halpert and Billy Hargrove are definitely a couple’.

“Shit.” You mutter, leaning closer to Dacre so he can read it too. “Who did it?”

“We have no idea,” Natalia answers, looking up from her phone. “But I watched it. Whoever did this stopped recording right before the cameras fell.”

This sucks. Giving Noah his cellphone back, you sigh. “It's really mean to do that. There's a lot of operations to keep the set free from curious eyes and someone from the inside leaks it? That's ridiculous.”

“James will sue whoever did this,” Dacre adds.

“Excuse me, guys.” Ryan comes, a tablet on his hand and a very worried expression on his face. “James wants you to stay here until we find out who did this.” He says, giving you a quick glance before looking back at his tablet. “You got the trailers here so... I think you'll be comfortable. Sorry, but James is–”

“RYAN!”

“James' orders. Sorry.” Rolling his eyes and sighing, he gives his back at you.

“We'll have to stay? I didn't do it.” Gaten exclaims, clearly pissed.

“Me neither. I was too busy watching the kiss with my own eyes.” Natalia complains but gives you a glance.

Well, you would like to get to your bed, but complaining won't help and you're exhausted from the flight. “I'm calling it a night.” You mutter, upset that this whole thing happened. The leaking, of course. “I'll take a shower to wash the 80's from my skin and I'll go see my trailer.” You haven't seen it yet, since it's meant for the Battle of Starcout scenes, which you'll probably shoot throughout the night.

“Me too,” Dacre says, then turning at you. “I'll find your trailer after if that's alright.”

“Sure.” Smiling, you blush to feel all those eyes on you. “See you soon, then.”

• • •

You're lucky to have your baggage here. Maybe the flight being delayed wasn't so bad as it seemed. After showering and handing the outfit back to your stylist, you follow her directions to where the trailers are. They're in the very back of the set, in a large area, set side by side. You're surprised to see the trailer doesn't look like a trailer on the inside, but like an actual house, only a little tiny. There's a main space with a couch, a table, and a TV, then a kitchen with a stove, an oven, and a sink. A bathroom with a shower. And on the very back, the thing you needed the most after this long day. A well-equipaded room with a huge bed. Smiling, you let your piece of baggage fall as you climb on the bed, lying on your back and sighing in relief.

Jumping back to your feet, you decide to change into something more comfortable. So you exchange your jeans for light gray sweatpants and a black spaghetti strap tank top before lying back down. You're happy you ate on the plane, or else you'd be starving right now.

But despite all the thoughts in your head, you can't help but come back to the main event of the day. Your fingers come to touch your lips, as you close your eyes to bring the memory back. You're upset you didn't get to do more takes. The cold and nervousness you were feeling vanished so quickly, at the same moment his lips collided on yours. So hot and intense. Breathtaking.

You're dragged away from your thoughts by a knock on the door. Dacre. He told you he'd come. Taking a deep breath and fixing your simple clothes the best you can, you make your way to the door, thinking you should've picked something better to put on. “Hey.” You mutter when you swing the door open, gesturing for him to come in. “Did you see your trailer?”

“Yeah. I stopped by to leave my luggage.” He answers, stepping inside and looking down at you. “These things look bigger from the inside.”

“Definitely.” Clearing your throat, you gesture at the back of the trailer, to the bedroom. You know how awkward it may be, but there's a burning on your back that won't let you sit on the couch. “I hope you don't mind but could we talk while I lie down? My back hurts real bad from the five hours we had to spend at the airport.”

“I don't mind at all.” Nodding, you walk back to the bedroom, throwing yourself on the bed. “So. Who do you think leaked the video?” Dacre asks as he sits on the edge.

“I have no idea. All I know is that is wasn't me. And it wasn't you.” Staring at the ceiling, you try not to feel very self-conscious right now. “I was too busy on scene.”

“Me too.” He mutters. “Where does it hurt, by the way?”

“On my shoulder blades.” You answer, looking at him. He looks very handsome, as usual, despite wearing a simple white T-shirt. “Those airport chairs weren't very nice to me.”

“I can give you a massage if you want.” Dacre stares at you dead serious, which means he's not joking.

You wish you had the adrenaline rush from earlier, so it'd push the words right off your mouth, and maybe you wouldn't be blushing. “Uhm... If you want to.”

“Alright, lie on your stomach.” He says, taking off his shoes and climbing on the bed.

“Fine.” Mumbling, more to yourself than to him, you roll over, grabbing a pillow to rest your head. Breathing deeply, you feel the mattress moving under Dacre's weight as he places himself beside you.

“Let me know if it hurts, alright?” The moment you nod, you feel his hands on your back. And he must know what he's doing because it does feel good. The butterflies on your stomach are wide awake now, since Dacre has his hands on you, strong but delicate at the same time, rubbing and softly pushing your muscles.

“If I knew you were good at this I'd have asked.” You say with a smile, pulling the small amount of hair that still falls on your back out of his way. Dacre gets this as a permission to put a little more pressure, just enough to make you relax. His fingers slide under the fabric of your shirt, but you don't mind.

“Glad I can help.”

You just mumble in response, suddenly feeling your tiredness taking over as you close your eyes shut. Falling asleep now is the last thing you want because it's so good to be around Dacre, and you think you may finally understand where you both stand in all this situation. What you're feelings are and if they can take you somewhere.

“It's ok, I'm alright now.” You speak up, moving to lie on your side. “If you continue I'll fall asleep in a matter of seconds.”

“If you're tired I can go.” He gestures at the door, already moving.

“No. Stay.” Bursting out, you sit up, grabbing his arm. You can't believe what you just said. What you just asked of him. “If you want, of course.”

Dacre stands still for a while, frozen before he settles down on the bed again. “Alright.” You can tell he's tired too, by the way his eyes are heavy.

“Let's play a game. Who sleeps first loses.” The idea comes suddenly to your head, and it seems to lighten up the mood.

“And what will I get when I win?” He has a cocky smile on his lips as he lies down, facing you.

“When? Don't get overconfident.” Moving a little to get comfortable, you take a deep breath when your eyes set upon his. Blue and calming. “I'm gonna win.” You say, winking at him.

“I really doubt that.” As he speaks, Dacre brings his hand to your face, fingers sliding from your forehead to your eyelids, forcing you to close your eyes. “You'll lose, so better start making peace with that.” His voice, low and deep, sends a shiver down your spine.

You were just about to answer, to say something, when you notice how his hand lingers, moving to caress your cheek, thumb rubbing the soft skin on your jaw until it reaches your chin. Slowly, painfully slow, it comes to your lower lip. His touch burns, making your head spin around. The memory of the kiss fills your head, and you know you want to do that again.

Swallowing hard, you gather all the courage you can to move closer to him, ending all the space between your bodies and, being really brave for once, going for the thing you want. That you need the most right now. You connect your lips to his, feeling relieved as if a burden was suddenly lifted when you feel him kissing you back. Dacre's hand remain on your cheek, and yours rest on his chest, feeling his muscles under the soft fabric of his shirt. The kiss is slower this time, as if you're both discovering, unrevealing each other. But you don't mind. You love it as much as you loved the other one.

It sucks when you have to break apart to breathe. But when you do, you remain close, your foreheads touching because you just can't force yourself to pull away from him now. “Sorry, I... I had to.” You mutter under your breath.

“It's alright.” Dacre's hand comes to encircle your waist, keeping you close. “If you didn't, I'd have to.” He giggles. “I've been dying to kiss you, (Y/N).”

“Me too.” You whisper. “What you said in the message... I feel the same way. That kiss... I really wanted it and that wasn't Amy, it was me.” Maybe it's the sleep winning over you, but the words just come out. You need him to know. You need to let it out and you hope it means something to him. “Dacre, I... I really like you. A lot.”

You blush when he smiles, but soon enough a giggle escapes your lips. “Then I'd like to take you on a second date. As soon as James lets us out of this set.”

“I'd love that.” Giggling like a teenager, you kiss him again, a peck on the lips that linger a little too long. But not long enough. “Uhm... You can crash here if you want.” You decide to offer since you just noticed you're already on the bed, all tangled on each other. “I think we already reached the point of no return here.”

“I agree...”

“Are we... Are we going to sleep like this?” You ask, putting a strand of hair behind your ear.

“However you like.”

Biting your lip to hold back a smile, you turn around. Dacre is fast to hold you, a strong arm pushing your back against his chest. “Is this ok?”

“Yeah.” You both move to get more comfortable and you lay your hand on top of his, on your stomach.

You've never been like that with anyone, so close, so... Intimate. But you like it. And you can't believe it's Dacre who's holding you this way.

@baker151910 @shinydixon @dreamin-of-dacre @hanoi15 @lickmymelaninn @foccus @multific @uncookspaget @kellysimagines @peakascum @thisbreakableheaven

#dacre montgomery x reader #dacre montgomery imagine #dacre montgomery fanfiction #imagine dacre montgomery #billy hargrove x reader #imagine billy hargrove #billy hargrove imagine #stranger things imagine

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mohini-musing · 3 years

Note

Any fic, anything you want, but bonus points if you include a roadside market’s inflatable steak. 🥩

Coming Home 'verse

marginally compliant with Black Widow movie

~~~

She is unbreakable.

That’s the cover she chose long ago. Before she was a widow. Before she was Tasha. Before she was Natalie. Before she was… anything.

The Red Room didn’t break her. It made her.

A monster.

A killer.

A whore.

It made her less than human. And something infinitely more.

She thinks of all these things as she sits on the floor just outside the nursery, a word that surely the child within would argue against. Still, it’s what Laura calls it and so that is what it remains. She listens to Nathaniel’s soft snuffling breaths. Times her own inhalations with his.

Home.

Safe.

Loved.

The words don’t belong to her world. She will burn herself to ashes to make absolutely certain that they are his world. Their world.

Nathaniel.

Lila.

Cooper.

She remembers learning what mothers look like with their children. Remembers watching Clint and discovering that fathers could encourage without demanding perfection. She knows nothing of those things in her own past. Cannot remember being a child. Only a machine. In the academies there was only one way to be loved. Perfection. She was absolutely, utterly devoted to achieving that perfection in long lines and deadly aim alike.

There are footsteps behind her. Laura kneels a few feet away, feet tucked beneath her body and eyes searching over Nat’s face in a way that stops just short of uncomfortable.

“Tell me what happened.”

It’s an invitation to speak, neither question nor demand. Just an opening – one she can choose to step into or away from. That’s Laura’s way. She wants to explain. She wishes she could offer stories of the blue dye that she got all over the bathroom, a shade eerily similar to the one currently adorning Lila’s long braid (and the countertops of the upstairs bath). To tell the story of a little blonde child, of a blue haired older sister, of a backyard playset and fireflies in the trees.

But that story ended in a needle in her neck, blue strands chopped off until nothing remained of the little bit of experimentation she was allowed on what she thinks of only in her most private of moments as that one mission where she was a child. Clint asked her once where she learnt to fly a plane. She told him she doesn’t remember not knowing. It’s easier than explaining that she was coached into her first takeoff by a bleeding woman she called mom while a little child cried out in terror inches behind her and bullets pinged off the glass ahead.

Bile rises at the memory and she chokes it back, sputtering. She doesn’t think about that. Not ever. But she’s here again in this home where mom and dad are real and not just mission directives. Where family actually exists and by some hideous miracle she’s included. Her body lurches forward unbidden and she heaves, stomach long emptied but trying to expel its very lining anyway.

Laura doesn’t wait for her to finish before pulling her into arms, coaxing her shaking limbs against warmth and the scent of something earthy and organic – whatever handmade soap she last picked up at the farm market in town.

“Shhhh, just breathe,” she tells her.

Natasha obeys, breathing slow and deep, eyes drifting closed in a mixture of adrenaline crash and honest fatigue. She startles when her body shifts upward, transferred to arms that carry her like a toddler into the bedroom where a cot awaits her. She has a bedroom. But she also has a space in their room, for the hard nights. There are so many hard nights.

“No,” she whimpers, shaking her head as hard as she dares. Sleep isn’t safe. Sleep brings dreams. Sleep could bring words brought into the open, and tonight she dares not risk telling the one story left to her. Fury knows. Fury knows everything. There’s a folder in her room, slipped beneath the mattress that’s evidence enough of that. Yelena. Still blonde. No longer a child. Abandoned by her when they were children, abandoned once more when she left for SHIELD. When she struck a deal with the devil she trusted more than the one she knew better. For that she will always hate him. She doesn’t refuse Nick often. But that folder – that’s a mission she’s not accepting. It’s also a mission she made damn clear no one else would survive taking. She knows Nick sees her as both a weapon and a bit of a hazard. It’s lucky for her that he knows she means it when she makes promises.

It's just her luck she came home to a bathroom full of blue drips and an excited child who wanted to show off her new look to Auntie Nat. She thanks a wide variety of gods in which she does not believe that Lila bought her lies about a migraine when that excitement set off a panic attack impressive even by Natasha’s standards.

“Tell me what to do?”

“Shoot me up,” she grumbles, tired and wrung out and too fresh from falling to pieces on the hallway floor to care what’s coming out of her mouth.

It’s been a long time since she’s asked him for a drug run. He used to do it, before there was a family, before he was a reasonable adult, before she was the only one who was testing and fucking past limits at every opportunity. She hears their hushed voices, and it’s a shock when the suggestion comes from Laura.

“You know the one. Up by the stockyards, with that stupid inflatable steak in front. There’s always someone around selling what she needs.”

Natasha knows the one as well. It’s something of a running joke. The revolting nine foot tall blow up t-bone, with the handwritten sign for discount beef taped to it with what is clearly repurposed electrical tape. No sane human would ever buy such a thing. But it’s a hell of a landmark none the less.

Laura’s holding her in the big bed when Clint slips a needle into her arm an hour later. The world goes dim around the edges and she drifts, images of fireflies in the treetops dancing behind closed lids.

I sat with my anger long enough that she told me her real name was grief.

~ C.S. Lewis

#black widow #natasha romanoff #natasha and yelena #clint barton's farm #clint barton #laura barton #drug use #panic attack #coming home 'verse #the inflatable steak fic

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