Http://darbygirl30fanfic.tumblr.com/onlywheniclosemyeyes ^^^^^^ That Is The Best Story From Tumblr At

LOL..

I

oh GOD. THIS IS SO BEAUTIFUL. I LOVE IT SO MUCH. ASDFGHJKL.

Omfg I love he’s a fan boi

ag! reader on her sweetener/tun tour with Tom in the Front row and She’s constantly interacting with him and talking/ holding hands stuff

Thank u!!!!

hope you like this ;) here’s a pic of the stage for reference (for my non-ari familiars) <3

wc | 1.3k

see u soon

｡☆✼★━━ requests are closed ━━★✼☆｡

“Ladies and gentlemen,” You smile, adjusting the microphone that’s attached to your head. You glance down towards the front of the mosh pit where Tom is located, and you smile a little wider. “And Tom,” you add on quietly, sparking hundreds of screams and cheers. “Welcome to the Sweetener World Tour.”

As the first Act of the tour goes on, you sing your heart out during “bad idea” and “break up with your girlfriend, i’m bored.” As you head backstage for an outfit change and a short interlude, you’re heading back up a bit earlier than usual, having rushed into your next costume so you could interact with the crowd a little more. No doubt, in less than two minutes, your band will be ready to start again, but for now, you enjoy the cheers of excitement that get louder the closer you get towards the front of the stage.

“Hi, everyone!” You say softly, sweetly, giggling into your microphone. You successfully make it to the end of the stage, pausing to gauge the crowd’s reaction and truly take in the sight before you. It’s beautiful, really. “Thank you all for coming. How’re we all doing tonight? We having fun?”

Screams of assurement go around and it’s enough to spark another giggle out of you. You lock eyes with Tom, and almost subconsciously, you walk over to the left side of the stage where he’s at the barrier, by a staircase that leads to the center of the mosh pit. There’s a platform in the middle of the pit where you will eventually perform later in the night, and Tom’s in practically one of the best seats in the entire stadium.

Realizing the space that’s set between the stage and the crowd, you decide to sit on the edge with your legs dangling down off the platform. The security guard moves to your side, watching your safety. You smile at him, reaching for Tom’s hand. He sports a blush, hand connecting with yours and interlacing your fingers.

“Hi, baby,” You say into the microphone. Murmured “aw’s” and cheers go around again. “Everyone say ‘hi’ to my baby, Tom.”

Tom scrunches his face up in that cute fashion, and you chuckle again, admiring his adorableness. Your fans comply, sending their greetings towards Tom, whose blush has grown a cosmic amount.

You pull the microphone away from your face for a brief moment, sending questions towards the Brit’s way. “You’re alright? Need anything? Water?”

He shakes his head with a gentle smile, body against the metal barrier that separates the two of you. “I’m alright. How’re you, Ms. Pop Star?”

You giggle again, this one making it through the speakers and echoing in the large venue. “‘M good.”

Glancing behind you, you realize you still have some time before you’re due on stage again, to sing, that is. Standing up, you send Tom a kiss, one he pretends to catch & pocket. The action catches the eye of a few people — and their cell phones. It’s on twitter in less than a minute.

“Oh-em-gee,” You smile, “We should take a selfie. Should we take a selfie?” You look to your front rowers, who nod enthusiastically, and you grab your cell phone from the crew member that conveniently brought it up for you. “Okay, okay, everyone smile.” You hold the phone up, with you in frame, and you snap a selfie of the entire stadium.

You spin around, walking back over to Tom and capturing a few pictures and videos with him, some of which happen to make it onto your Instagram story. Walking to the center of the stage, you hold your phone up, ready to record.

“Okay, I’m gonna take a video of you all. My sweet, babies, my lovely fans. Everyone get ready to scream.” You’re about to record when you stop, “Wait, should we scream something? Like a lyric?” You laugh into the microphone, a bit indecisive. “I’m a lost cause, honest to god.” You giggle again, something that makes Tom’s smile widen. You walk back over to him.

“Tommy? What should we say? Simultaneously, that is.”

He hums, and you scoot closer to the edge, shoving the pink microphone towards his lips. He chuckles and the microphone catches it, sending it through the speakers. You giggle again.

“Maybe… god is a woman?”

“Ooo,” you bring the mic back, sending Tom another kiss before standing upright. “What do we think? Is that aesthetic enough?”

After a few beats of supportive cheering, you hold up your phone again. “Everyone say ‘god is a woman’ on three, ready? One… two… three!”

It’s a magnificent sight, what you get. The joint voices of your fans goes through your ears, sending shivers up your spines and tingles down your arms. Goosebumps rise on your arm while you end the recording. “Honest to god… honest to god knock me out. That was the coolest fucking thing ever.”

The crowd laughs, something you can hear clearly, and when you turn around, you realize your band is back and ready for action.

“Back to the show, babies,” You frown enthusiastically before running towards Scotty, your choreographer. You hand him your phone while the intro to “R.E.M.” begins.

“Love you, Tommy,” You slip out.

This song is to be done on the floor, alone while the backdrops and digital designs take over and stun the crowd to a high level of impression.

All the while, you’re singing while making eye contact with your London boy. Tom’s silently singing along — a rare occasion for him to sing in public where anyone can record him and upload it.

“Last night,” you sing, “When I was asleep… boy I met you, yuh.” You chuckle, cutely, into the mic again. When the lyric pops up, you can’t help but smirk. “Excuse me, Tom.” You replace the ‘uhm’ with your sweet boyfriend’s name, turning the mic towards the audience for them to finish the lyrics.

The night goes on like that. During “NASA,” you gather, with your dancers, around the edge of the looped stage, holding hands with the fans. When you perform “everytime” on the platform in the center of the pit, you grab Tom’s hand while passing the small set of stairs he’s located by. You do it every time, making sure to at least get a sliver of his fingers. It makes his heart giddy, fills his stomach with butterflies, and makes his eyes love the sight of you even more.

“Before we end tonight,” You pant into the mic, having just performed a song & dance right before the ending act — thank u, next. “I just wanna say, thank you so much for coming, for being here, for supporting me, for listening to my music and being here. Especially thank you to Tom,” You turn to him with your lip jutted out a bit, smiling through an exhale. “For being my number one supporter for all the days and, hopefully, the many more to come. I hope you enjoy this last one,” You smile. “We’ll be right back for ‘thank u, next.’” You smile again, nodding and waving.

You catch sight of Tom, who’s looking at you with such a loving expression that you can’t help yourself. Your feet move before your brain can protest, and you’re running towards the stairs, leaning over the railing just a bit. You’re on the third step, pulling Tom in for a kiss you couldn’t wait for. Slightly, you can sense people are recording, and you smile into the kiss. Tom has to stop himself from moaning aloud.

“See you soon,” you whisper before running off with your backup dancers, finding your way backstage for one final time this night.

okay but the bad boy soft for the kind girl trope is cute but i gotta say: the friends with opposing personalities who argue constantly added with mutual pining>>>

he was mean to her in the protective way, he cared for her so bad and I love Nick Miller with my entire being at the moment.

Hottttt

finn harries | Tumblr on @weheartit.com - http://whrt.it/Uqk9w5

God I love this picture

“Thank God” “Yeah I guess” OMFG STOP YES

Thank Chuck

(GIF credit: @mishacollinss)

Characters: Dean x F!Reader, Jensen Ackles x AU!Reader, Chuck, Sam

Words: 3,453

Summary: A divine intervention makes Dean realize the folly beneath his fear of loving you. (French Mistake AU)

Warnings: alcohol?, language, angst, mutual pining, idiots in love, fluff, pregnancy, implied smut, slightly ooc chuck

A/N: written for @jawritter and @sofreddie's 2k prompt-palooza. congrats to both of you! my prompt was the word "delicate"

Square Filled: dream sequence for @spnfluffbingo and chuck for @spnmixedbingo

MASTERLIST

You took a sip of whiskey and weighed the risks of your impulsive desires as you felt it glide down your gullet and fill you with warmth, “Hey, Dean?”

He was staring at the golden liquid in his own glass, thick fingers engulfing the tumbler as they dipped it this way and that, letting the sloshing alcohol slowly hypnotize him. “Yeah?”

“How drunk are you?”

“Prolly not enough for whatever you’re about to ask me,” he quipped in that raspy baritone before looking up at you from across the table, “But you’re gonna ask me anyway, right?”

It wasn’t like you could help it. Ethanol always made you inquisitive and nights like this, when you were finally home after a rough, hunt-induced revelation – yet another ruthless confirmation of how damned humanity really was, barely treading the waters of an infinite, tumultuous ocean without a benevolent god in sight – made you yearn for him beyond usual. And the despondency in his eyes only added to your need to know, “You ever think there could be more to this life?”

“Like what?” he asked cautiously, green eyes narrowing as he took another gulp from his cup.

“I dunno, like- maybe not the full ‘apple pie life’, but just- someone to share your… wins and losses with? Someone to celebrate with when you get a one-up on yourself, someone to hold onto when everything goes to shit?”

“What, are you crushing on Sammy or something?” Dean forced a laugh, but even just joking about it hurt him inconceivably.

With a decisive huff, you relinquished your nightcap and relented, “You know what? Never mind. I’m heading in. Don’t stay up too late, bud,” your hand landed briefly on the vast terrain of his shoulder as you walked by him on your way to bed.

Dean’s gaze was locked straight ahead, knuckles losing color as his grip tightened around his useless drink. It took everything within him not to shatter the glass with his bare hands or launch it across the room to watch the remaining bourbon fly and the fractured pieces of its container ricochet around him. As if he hadn’t made enough mistakes today. Now this.

God, how he wished he could change the nature of your relationship, get you to call him something other than ‘buddy’ or ‘sport’ or ‘dude’ or ‘man’ one day. But instead, he just kept pushing you further and further away, because though you never acted like it, he told himself you were a delicate flower, prone to getting trampled by his heavy and muddy steel toe boot if he ever got too close. It was a mantra etched inside his brain and Dean never wanted to see your light weighed down or your beauty sullied. There was no way he could forgive himself if he let that happen, never mind if he were the very cause of it.

But distancing himself was almost just as painful, and he could never stand to let that flower completely out of his sight, despite thinking himself unfit for your resplendent company, crass and tainted as he was. Yet he’d been endlessly grateful when you chose to spend your time with him after this shitshow of a day. So why couldn’t he have just offered you a few words of comfort or a simple, heartfelt conversation? Perhaps you were better off with someone like Sam. Or anyone other than him really, because in what universe would he be good enough for you?

“And cut!”

Dean’s eyes jerked open, and it took him a moment to realize he’d fallen asleep at the table where you’d left him, the only difference being now there was an entire film crew bustling around him, a camera in his face, and a giant mic above his head. Yeah, he would have been freaking the fuck out if he hadn’t been here before.

“That’s a wrap, guys. Great job, Jay.”

What the hell?! Again?! This must be a dream, Dean thought.

“Oh hey, Jensen, your wife was looking for you. She’s waiting for you in your trailer,” a random PA informed him with a wink.

“My wh-“ he started, but the man was already gone.

Unsure of what else to do and naturally more than a little curious, Dean cautiously made his way off the set of Supernatural to find the trailer that belonged to ‘fake him’.

Its inside looked nothing like he remembered. There was no aquarium and no helicopter, but there was a large sofa bed in the far corner, above which laid a curled figure facing away from the entrance.

Dean approached timidly, his heart pounding furiously by the time he was less than an arm’s length away from whom must’ve been his fake wife.

The mysterious woman stirred, grumbling as she did, “Mm, Jense?” She turned slightly toward him before burying her face in her hands, “Oh shoot, did I fall asleep waiting for you again? I’m sorry, I’ve just been so tired lately.”

Wait. He knew that voice. He loved that voice. That voice was what kept him going on the days he got tired of it all, the days he was tempted to completely forgo the name of Dean Winchester. But it couldn’t be, could it? Then again, the last time they were here, Sam was married to fake Ruby, so he supposed finding you in his tv star alter ego’s trailer was not as insane as it seemed.

His speculation was affirmed when you slowly climbed to your feet. “Y- Y/N?”

“Oh shut up, that’s getting old,” you chuckled and Dean couldn’t help but stare in awe of your smile. It was nearly identical to his Y/N’s, except it held a radiant levity he had never before seen. And when you moved to stand in front of him, he discernably blanched at the sight of something else he’d never seen.

Dean had been so shocked to find you here, he hadn’t even noticed your swollen stomach. A crushing weight bloomed across his chest while something twinged within his own gut, and although he moved his lips, no words came out, only a stuttered breath of a gasp.

“Baby? You OK?” Your voice was soothing and concerned and suddenly you were a mere foot away, small and tender hands latching onto his, “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

He didn’t respond; he couldn’t. His eyes just kept flickering between your hands, your stomach, and your face.

“Here, sit down,” you guided him toward the bed behind you and pushed him down by the shoulders, “Lemme get you some water.”

As he watched you pour him a cup from a dispenser in the opposite corner, he managed to regain some of his senses. “Uh- isn’t this backwards?” he tried airily, “Shouldn’t I be the one taking care of you?”

You scoffed on your way back to him, “Just cause I’m pregnant doesn’t mean I can’t look after my husband.”

Dean couldn’t repress the soft laughter he exhaled, because that sounded exactly like something the real you would say. But what came next wasn’t quite as typical. While one of your hands passed him the water, the other slid along his shoulders in a consoling manner that had him melting beneath your touch. You were standing so close to him, the curve of your belly brushed his arm.

“I- I did this?” he gestured awkwardly at your baby bump, cringing inwardly until your bubbly giggle hit his ears.

“Do you not remember how it happened?” There was that smile again. Fuck was it beautiful, and impossible not to reciprocate.

“I’m sorry, everything’s just kinda... hazy right now,” his lashes fluttered as he looked up at you, almost bashfully.

But the worry returned to your eyes, “Are you sure you’re OK? What happened anyway and why are you still in Dean’s clothes; I thought you wrapped?”

“No, yeah, we did. I’m fine, I just- couldn’t wait to see you.” The corners of Dean’s lips drifted up again, a subconscious reaction to your fingers sweeping through his hair before they caressed the side of his face. He felt strangely at peace. “Can I?” he asked, bright green eyes blinking back down to your expectant swell as he hovered a big, tentative palm over it.

“Of course, you weirdo.” Taking his hand in both of yours, you settled it over your distended stomach.

“Whoa!” Dean almost jumped when he felt a fluttery movement against his palm.

“She’s gonna be such a daddy’s girl,” you chuckled, playful envy underlying the obvious joy in your tone.

A baby girl. What a lucky bastard this guy was, Dean thought as he reveled in the baby’s little kicks. Soon, his other hand joined in, nearly eclipsing your belly with his gentle hold. And as you ran your hands through his hair again, letting him rest his head against the bump that was your growing daughter, Dean closed his eyes and gave his all to try and burn the moment into his memory.

This was a pretty good dream, and it only got better when you pulled him away to meet his eyes, cupping his jaw and gazing down at him with such love and reverence, he actually did feel woozy.

Dean didn’t think it was possible to feel any happier until he felt his resolve crack and his features soften to mirror yours with the inherent look of sheer wonder and adoration he’d always constrained in your presence. In that instant, he truly believed he could fly if he tried, that everything wrong in the world was irrelevant, and that perhaps there really was a god who cared.

You smiled back, and without a word, slowly mounted him until your knees landed on either side of his hips on the bed, sidling as close as you could given your current figure. He held you steady as your fingers played with the collar of his flannel, smoothing over his upper chest and shoulders before grabbing his face so your lips could greet his. The kiss was much harder than he expected, knocking him back a bit in shock. Although Dean quickly recovered, he was hesitant to return the fervor, hefty callous hands wandering gingerly across your fertile form, afraid he might somehow break you.

“I’m not as fragile as you think I am, you know?” you breathed into his mouth.

“Yeah, it’s just-“

“Why are you doing your Dean voice?”

“What? I’m not-“ he paused to clear his throat and adjust his voice though he had no idea how to sound more ‘Jensen’, “I’m not doing… that.”

Pulling back a little to get a better look at him, you countered, “Yes, you are. You’ve been acting kinda Dean-like this whole time, and you know what that does to me.” You punctuated your sentence by grinding into his lap, so while he wanted to ask you what you meant, a strangled groan was the only thing that escaped his lips.

“Is this another one of your roleplay fantasies?” Dean was somehow nervous and hard at the same time as you whispered into his ear, pecking and nibbling its lobe, “Because you know I’d be down. It’s like I always say, I think Y/N fell in love with Dean before I fell in love with you.”

“What?!” He simply couldn’t hide his surprise, yet he regretted it immediately.

“OK seriously, what’s going on with you?” you stopped kissing him to send him a fretful glance.

“Nothing! It’s nothing, I just uh… think I hit my head a bit during one of the stunt takes today,” Dean lied.

“What?! Why didn’t you say so? Where? Lemme see,” your fingers began combing through his short strands in search of any sign of injury.

“Baby, I’m fine, I told you,” he went out on a limb with the nickname, but it felt so right coming out of his mouth and you seemed to unwind a bit at his words. Feeling brave, Dean grasped your wrists and brought your hands before him, kissing your knuckles as he gazed into your eyes, though he didn’t miss the giant rock on your left hand. It drove a pang through his heart, a reminder of something he could never give the real you, but inspired him to indulge himself by playing the part, “I don’t want you worrying about a thing while you’re growing our little one in there,” he smiled as his large hand rubbed the side of your belly.

“You know I’ll always worry about you.” Your thumbs traced his stubble before you leaned forward to kiss the delicate crinkles beside his eye, “That’s another thing Y/N and I have in common.”

“You think she worries about the actor who plays Dean?” he teased, delighted to see you smiling again. If he couldn’t make the real you happy, it was the least he could do for your counterpart in this bizarre dream.

“Oh shut up, you know what I mean. Look, I know you keep things from me to protect me sometimes, especially lately, but baby, I’m not a glass vase. I won’t break in your hands and I promise I can always handle the whole truth. Of course I’m gonna worry about you but that’s what you fucking do when you love someone. And I’d rather know about everything that’s going on with you than be kept in the dark because that’ll only make my anxiety worse. It’s like when Dean refused to let Y/N all the way in but also couldn’t push her completely out. Being stuck in that halfway point hurt her so much more.”

Dean froze but the imploring look you cast had him thawed out in no time, “I mean, I thought we were in this together.”

“We are,” he replied. It was a firm declaration, fueled by a wistful glaze over his olive eyes.

“Good," you bit your lip as your demeanor changed, "Now will you please just let me take care of you for once?” The lust in your eyes seemed so foreign, and yet he felt like he’d seen flashes of something similar before.

“You sure you’re up for this?” Dean’s hands moved down to tenderly cup your stomach.

You rolled your eyes and for a moment he thought you were the real Y/N. “I told you, I’m not made of glass. Now are you gonna let me ride you or not, cowboy?”

He tried to hide the shy grin that blossomed across his lips by looking down, slightly embarrassed that you’d hit a kink, but you kissed the corner of his mouth and giggled as you asked, “I still don’t understand how you’re so freaking adorable and so ridiculously hot at the same time? I guess that’s just an ability you and Dean will always share.”

There were smiles all around as you pressed your hands to his thick shoulders and forced him to lay back, poised above him when you started bestowing kisses along his jaw and tugging at the buttons of his shirt. The ardent sounds of longing and satisfaction that came from you drove Dean insane and he couldn’t hold back any longer. With a blissful smirk, he rolled and flipped you in one smooth motion, careful not to apply pressure to your abdomen as he balanced on his forearms, but when he bent down to kiss you, his eyes grew in alarm as you began to fade before his very eyes, body dematerializing in his arms until you disappeared into nothing.

It may have been a dream, but the terror he felt was very real, “Wha-?! No! Y/N! I mean,” Dean ran a large hand over his face in distress, “Shit, I don’t even know your name here.”

Before he had a chance to calm his rapid breathing and heartbeat, a shadow appeared in his peripheral vision and the double take Dean did when he realized who was now sitting on the bed inches away from him would have been comical if it weren’t for the entirely fucked up trauma he just underwent.

Scrambling off the bed as fast as he could, Dean yelped, “What the fuck?! Chuck?!”

“Hey, Dean,” the prophet-turned-God addressed him casually, adding when he noticed the stupefied and somewhat offended expression on Dean’s face, “Yeah, I admit, I could have chosen a better spot to appear in.”

“Or a better time!”

“Well, I couldn’t let you have it all, had to leave something to be desired, for the suspense, you know?” Chuck toned his proud grin down a bit at the murderous glare he was receiving.

“OK, I need you to be very clear here. What the hell is going on? Was that even real?” Dean demanded.

“Oh yes, very! I mean, as real as you want it to be. It’s sort of like what JK Rowling said, you know, about things happening in your head?... Never mind, that’s not important. My point is there does in fact exist a universe in which you two are married. Actually, there are many… I would say something like ninety-five percent of the time you end up together.”

Dean’s eyebrows nearly flew off his face as he absorbed this information.

“And you’re always happier, just an overall better version of yourself when you’re with her. Anyway, I got sorta sick of watching the two of you fawn all over each other while repeatedly breaking your own hearts, drowning in your identical yet isolated pools of delusional angst. Look, I know I said you’re my favorite show but the ‘will they, won’t they’ storyline is only good for so long before it becomes boring and tedious, you know? Plus, it’s a bit overdone if you ask me.”

“What, so you just zapped me here to… show me what I’m missing? I mean, it wasn’t exactly realistic, Chuck. She was pregnant.” Realizing he’d been played by a divine being yet again had Dean fuming.

“Yeah, that was juicy, huh? Bit of icing on the cake, if I do say so myself,” Chuck beamed before rolling his eyes at Dean’s continued melodramatics, “Well, I figured I had to go all out if I was gonna get a message through that thick skull of yours,” he defended staunchly, then stood up with a sigh, “Just think it over, will you? And when you finally do something about it, you can tell Sam to send me a fruit basket. Anyway, I gotta go. Being an absent parent is really a lot more work than you think it is.”

Dean was speechless as Chuck shouted a final ‘you’re welcome!’ before vanishing with a snap.

In the next moment, he found himself returned to the bunker, standing in its hall as he looked around to ensure it was the real thing.

Almost immediately, you turned the corner and upon spotting him, walked toward him at a frantic pace, “Oh my god, where the hell have you been?! I’ve been-“

Desperate to finally taste the real you, Dean didn’t let you finish. He was led by instinct alone when he rushed to meet you in the middle and in a role reversal moment, grabbed your head and angled it to plant you a needy, rough one that released all of his bottled-up frustrations from years worth of miserable hankering and irrefutable love.

Despite being sure Chuck had an ulterior motive, Dean simply couldn’t bring himself to care. The little sound of surprise you’d made as his lips touched yours alone was enough reason to ignore every sense of caution his brain had ever produced, enough reward for his impulsive behavior, and enough impetus to continue kissing you forever. You seemed to agree because your mouth was moving in perfect accord with his in no time, an equivalent hunger beneath your hands as they tried to pull him even closer.

If you were meant to be his, like this kiss seemed to effortlessly prove, he should have trusted that you’d never been as delicate as he’d convinced himself you were, and that you were a match made in heaven for his imperfect, grisly self. God himself had revealed as much and the thought brought a smile to his face. “It’s kind of a funny story,” he answered when the two of you finally broke for air. Chuck, even the way you breathed was alluring. Dean reckoned he didn’t have the patience to tell you about his 'dream' first, although he was also content to just relish the way you looked right now.

Your beautiful swollen lips parted as you stared at him in disbelief, but your arms were still around him when Sam walked by, “Seriously?! Finally! Thank God!”

Dean chuckled under his breath, “Yeah, I guess.”

A/N #2: thanks so much for reading! fyi, there's now TEAM SQUIRREL merch available at lexicolor.redbubble.com (link in bio ❤️) as always, customization requests very welcome!

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