#like pronouns ONLY for my husband to use ❤️ just because he is a little strange like that | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

selfryedxpunk · 1 year

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hi there👋🏼 it's me again (non-sexual touching with Din) since I might be here again, just think of me as your friendly neighbourhood AceAnon.

i humbly request another Din Djarin fluff drabble in which Din is mesmerised by the way reader looks at him when he takes his helmet off❤️ (they're married at this point) and he asks her why she's looking at him like that and she goes "I don't think it's fair that you're been hiding that pretty face all this time" and he's just blushing profusely because 1.she thinks he's pretty and 2.she looks at him like he hung the stars

again, feel free to ignore me.

omg hiya aceanon! so sorry this took decades I was going through a huge writers block! hope you enjoy

(and thanks to @letusbeseventeen for helping with the beginning ilysm pequeño huevo)

New Faces [d. djarin]

word count: 814 | rating: G | pairing: gn!reader x mandalorian (let me know if i used any pronouns)

☆ Now newly wedded, you finally see your riduur’s face for the first ever time

content/warnings: just fluffy fluff! <3, not proofread

The two of you limped into the Crest after a tiring mission. Thankfully, the both of you only had minor injuries but you were still in pain after trying to wrap up the small cut you got from that mission.

It was now surprisingly quiet, a bit too quiet you thought. You sat in the passenger seat with Grogu in hand while Din settled in the pilot seat, pressing buttons to get the Crest started up. You were both trying to unwind and finally rest but you couldn’t help and observe your husband, looking at his cold and stoic figure. He looked..uncomfortable. He looked in pain after that mission, sore. You noticed how he didn’t have any of his other armor on, except his helmet. The helmet that kept his face from showing to you, or anyone for that matter.

You remember him saying he might show you soon, now that the two of you were married but now, it’s like he’s sort of forgotten. You didn’t want to bug him about it though because if he took it off, he’d be going against his creed, his people. You couldn’t help but ask though, feeling sort of bad once it came out of your mouth.

“Do you have a reason why you haven't decided to take off your helmet around me yet orrrr... cause surely it would be more comfy after that mission…right?”

Din turned around to look at you as your face clearly showed how sorry you were for asking that. You stared into the T-shaped visor of his helmet as it was so quiet, you could hear Grogu’s soft snores coming from your lap.

“Possibly.” was all he said. You knew he probably wasn’t comfortable with that question and you regretted it once it actually sunk in. You decided that you’d let him actually get comfortable and not force him. He’ll show you one day.

Little did you know, today was that day.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The two of you were now relaxed in your seats, you dozing off sometimes and Din smiled sweetly at you, admiring your features. He’s always wondered how you could ever love a man like him, let alone marry.

You felt someone staring at you so you opened your eyes slowly and saw your Mandalorian looking at you. “What are you staring at?” you smirked.

“You, cyar’ika.” he started. “Look, sorry for the way I sounded when I said that. I just didn’t know how to react.”

You looked at Din, and how his body language spoke millions as he said this. Then, he did something you wouldn’t have expected him to do. Especially not today.

His hands went up to the sides of his helmet, as if he was about to take it off. You panicked slightly, feeling like it was your fault even to have the idea to reveal his face. You should have never asked that question, you thought to yourself but Din looked as if he wanted to do so. “Are you sure?” you asked softly as you put your hand on his. “Yes, I want to. I want to see you from my own eyes, your beauty, and not from this helmet.”

The helmet hissed as he took it off and Maker, were you mesmerized. It's like you were looking at him as if he hung up all the stars in the galaxy.

His hair was curly, quite ruffled and messy from it being in the helmet all the time. His eyes were a dark brown as he looked at you softly and lovingly. His nose was aquiline with a small curve. His lips were a slight pink and curved up into a nervous and sheepish smile, wondering what you were thinking and you wanted to kiss them so badly. He had a mustache that decorated his top lip with patchy stubble along his jaw.

Din had a small blush painted on his face as he looked at your mesmerized expression. He was slightly nervous at how quiet you were, but he noticed your mouth was a bit agape as you stared at him. “Why are you looking at me like that?” he chuckled nervously. Sometimes you’ve always wondered what he looked like under there, and you were not disappointed in this moment.

“Well I don’t think it’s fair you’ve been hiding that pretty face all this time.”

Din was definitely flustered now knowing you think he’s pretty. You cupped his face and traced his jaw, just trying to feel his texture. You caressed his cheek as he leaned into your touch. You never took your eyes off him and he never did you. This was the first time the two of you had skin-to-skin contact, and it felt magical.

You both just sat there and enjoyed each other's company. You were overjoyed to know that there was some softness behind that helmet.

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beneathashadytree · 2 years

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hi! i saw that your requests were open and i was wondering if you’d write a yuumori piece?

i’m thinking either for william and/or sherlock where it takes place after the 3 years skip and they come back to find that their wife has a baby/toddler and has gotten really close with their brother. They think that she moved on from them and married their brother and had a kid with him and get all huffy and jealous and sad. And it doesn’t help that the kid looks exactly like their brother (and them too but they’re too sad/grieving for their marriage to notice)

what ACTUALLY happened was that Y/N found out she was pregnant after they had “died” and louis/mycroft decided to act as a makeshift father and “husband figure” for Y/N and the baby (though everything is strictly platonic between louis/mycroft and Y/N) cause living as a single mom back then would’ve been hard and they also want to be there for their niece/nephew. and Y/N always told their kid stories and stuff about their real father and it’s just some real sad angst turned into sweet family reunion fluff? thanks! ❤️

REUNITED - SHERLOCK HOLMES X READER

Warnings : this is set after the timeskip, Sherlock is kind of an asshole at certain points, accusations of infidelity, this is not proofread as usual, reader is female and uses she/her pronouns!

Genre : heavy angst to fluff whewww

Word count : 2.2K words (not sorry)

Additional notes : I really don’t know where to start. I’m so sorry it took me a ridiculously long time to get to this, but as soon as I finished my finals, I contracted COVID 🥹 Actually I’m still sick as we speak, but hopefully this wasn’t too effed up🫠 Thank you for requesting, and I hope you enjoy this, because I absolutely adored writing it!

Requests : Are open! Check the rules over here.

Want to support me financially? Here’s my CashApp!

Masterlist

Sherlock Holmes was a million things. Stubborn, obstinate, headstrong, and absolutely bullheaded? Certainly. Inquisitive, deeply thinking, and brimming with a curiosity that could never be sated? Definitely. Ultimately kind-hearted at times, rather drawn to souls with soft corners to their jagged personalities, and unconditionally loving when he allowed himself the luxury of affection? Unquestionably.

He was all those things and more, and he thought he knew himself pretty damn well—but he certainly hadn’t expected to think himself a fool. At times foolish; yes, but not a blundering idiot that misplaced his trust in others. Never that. But then again, what else would he call himself, with the sight that stood in front of him?

Unless his eyesight had turned drastically poor and he wasn’t seeing things right, there was his wife, seated next to the head of the table, looking so sweet that it sent his heart barreling in his chest. Any blooming adoration was dampened, however, by the fact that she’d left her dinner plate to coo at a little child at her side, napkin dabbing at the squirming toddler’s chin, and the fact that the seat at the head of the table was occupied by none other than Mycroft, who’d sported a few more lines to his face than he’d last recalled he had.

It took them mere seconds to notice his presence, and for the sound of utensils clanging as they dropped to register amidst the pang of betrayal and utter heartbreak that resounded in him.

“Sherly?” came her quivering voice, disbelief tinging the nickname that had once brought immeasurable joy into his life, and now only left a sour taste in his mouth. He couldn’t bear to meet her eyes, instead swiveling his head around and watching his older brother, whose shocked expression mirrored hers.

Instead of addressing any obvious elephant in the room, all Mycroft asked was, “How’d you get in?” to which Sherlock pulled out a key from his back pocket.

“Not quite diligent of you, brother, leaving the key under the potted plant by the windowsill,” try as he might, he couldn’t fight the bitterness out of his voice, and all he could do was attempt to look at anything else but the apparently happy couple that had hurriedly stood up, abandoning their half-eaten red flannel hash and peas.

A rather horrible decision, really, since his eyes landed on the toddler who’d currently cocked his head curiously at the stranger he was. And the first sickening thought that entered his mind was how utterly identical the little kid was to his older brother. The same narrow dark eyes, the same tousled bluish hair, and even the same finely drawn lips—there was no doubt remaining in Sherlock’s mind that this child was his nephew.

A chuckle came from behind him, “First time seeing your brother in three years after you were presumed dead, and the first words out of your mouth are an admonition? You’ve certainly grown up.”

“Yes, well, I hope my arrival hasn’t put a damper on your lovely date night,” came his curt reply, though he tried to force a half-smile on his face afterwards as a sort of compensation, “I see you’ve been faring well,” the man turned to briefly face his lover—well, ex-lover now he supposed, “The both of you. And the little boy. Certainly hadn’t thought I’d be made an uncle so young.”

It was all Sherlock could do to prevent himself from clawing at his chest, the sharp pain climbing up his throat and stinging every nerve he had, urging him to burst into horrible, absolutely ugly tears that he was currently just barely holding back. He had to feign at least some dignity and nonchalance.

At that, the woman he’d once thought he knew furrowed her eyebrows.

“Uncle? Sherly—“

“Please, Mrs. Holmes,” his voice held a certain finality as he held his hand up, and he somehow managed to swallow past the lump in his throat, “I would rather not have this conversation in front of him. Or at all, for that matter.”

And though every part of him begged to clutch at her arms and swoop her into his, the ebony-haired man turned to look the other way despite her slightly-hurt look, leaving her to gently speak to the confused-looking child in a low voice and pick him up as she walked off into another room. He refused to even think of sneaking a look at her fingers and wondering if the ring Mycroft must’ve bought her was any better than the one he’d barely managed to save up for.

Mycroft. Of course it had to be Mycroft, he bitterly thought to himself, as said man stiffly guided him to the sitting room, Mycroft whom he’d never managed to and never will best. Mycroft, with his much tidier hair, deeper set eyes, calmer visage, and regal features. Mycroft, with his unmatched maturity that somehow fit perfectly with his occasional smiles that he’d always trusted in. Mycroft, with his massive build and unwavering loyalty that his own apparent-fickleness could never compare to. Mycroft, who’d always (unknowingly) charmed ladies and gentlemen alike at the times he himself could only ever strike annoyance in others.

Mycroft, who’d always been so prim and promer—of course he’d never measure up to him. He’d never quite been enough; he really should’ve known better than to trust the insurmountable love that had blinded him—

“Sherlock, I think there’s been a… misunderstanding of sorts.”

“Rather charming child he is, isn’t he?” the faux cheer in his voice as he interrupted his older brother couldn’t fool anyone as he studied the baby pictures on the fireplace, “Your son takes after you quite a bit.”

Mycroft sighed, crossing his legs, “It really isn’t that—“

“Better hope he’d have a bit more loyalty and faithfulness than his father, though,” he hummed, though the look on his face could only be described as utterly miserable, “Never quite liked chaps who were too full of themselves and went and backstabbed their friends and families.”

“Oh, honestly,” exasperation seeped through the man’s words as he attempted to get a word in edgewise, “Pull your head out of your dramatic arse and listen to me.”

If not for anything else, Sherlock was stunned into silence by the older man’s uncharacteristic foul language. Sharp eyes found his, and though the bitterness still clutched at his heart and heartbreak still clouded his vision, he clenched his fists as he could only see earnestness in his eyes.

“He’s yours,” Mycroft slowly said, letting the words sink in, “You’re the father.”

Silence enveloped them, and the air was thick with an inexplicable sort of tension. No words were spoken, as Sherlock’s face turned expressionless as the gears in his head set to work.

“That’s not possible,” he scoffed, his tone snarky, “She wasn’t pregnant before… before it happened.”

“That’s what we thought, didn’t we?” a soft sigh came from behind him, and he whipped around to see the woman he’d once embraced so hard he’d had no idea where he ended and she began, standing at the doorway with her arms folded, “Barely a month after you disappeared, I went to see a doctor for my repeated dizzy spells, only to have him confirm that I was with child. Just two months along.”

With careful strides, she took a seat by the fireplace, regarding the way Sherlock’s features began to contort into a look of offended fury.

“So, you decided to just go ahead and court my wife because I was presumed dead?” he rolled his eyes, once again turning away from the familiar gentle face that stirred up all the memories of nightly embraces and warm words whispered, “Ex-wife, it seems. Have you been comfortable playing the role of doting husband and father, Mycroft?”

“You know damn well he’d never do that, Sherlock,” she finally snapped, quickly making her way over to his side and cornering him on the couch, arms resting at both sides of his head, “Mycroft saved us from a world of misery. He protected both my reputation as a widow, and our son’s happiness. So he could grow up surrounded by the sort of love only a father figure could give.”

“I’m not quite sure you’ve noticed, but that’s the definition of playing father and husband,” Sherlock’s eyes were burning, and he knew that the cause wasn’t just the anger bubbling inside of him, but the tears that he held back, “With the actual father and first husband gone, he’d finally step in.”

“What did you expect me to do, leave them out on the streets so that the ‘Ton could dig into their flesh?” Mycroft’s interruption was scathing, but not untrue, and his harsh scowl let up as he spoke again, “I made it clear to him from the start that I was a concerned uncle, nothing more, nothing less. I wanted to be there for my nephew.”

“And I’d never let a day pass without telling him about how wonderful and brilliant his papa was—is,” she corrected herself, a sad look settling in her eyes as she did, “Even when I was all alone in bed with nothing to keep me company but the baby’s kicks against my belly, I spoke to him and told him of how lucky I’d been to have found you,” she paused, swallowing thickly, and he could feel his heart thudding in his chest at the sight of her looking so beautiful and yet so heartbreakingly distraught, “How sorry I was that he’d probably never get the chance to meet the incredible man you are.”

“Sherly,” his brother’s voice was soft once again, and the gentleness in it had him nearly gasping for breath, trying to blink back his tears as he met his eyes, “I would’ve never forgiven myself if I’d left them to fend for their own. I owed that much to you.”

Harshly gulping, Sherlock unclenched his fists, knuckles a little sore, “And… there’s nothing going on between the two of you?”

Fervently shaking her head, the woman he thought to be the most wondrous in the world cupped his cheeks in hers. Under any other circumstances, perhaps he’d have felt embarrassed of such a display of affection in front of Mycroft, but he currently could only let himself lean into the touch he’d gone three achingly long years without.

“Never had, and never will,” she firmly replied, “I was too busy mourning to ever think of anyone else. I knew I’d only ever have eyes for you, come what may.”

“I’ve never laid eyes upon her in a way a brother wouldn’t,” Mycroft insisted, driving the point home clear, his large, calloused hand resting on his younger brother’s shoulder reassuringly, “And we’ve slept in entirely different wings the whole time.”

“B-but, he looks so much like you,” Sherlock weakly protested, looking up at the man whose expression seemed annoyed at the remark.

“How you could be so bright and yet so painstakingly thick at the same time is beyond me,” he muttered under his breath, walking away as he said something about this being outside his area of expertise, at the same time his beloved chuckled lightly, her laugh fanning the flames that were being rekindled in his heart—or rather, the ones that had never died.

With her dazzling smile, her fingers brushed his cheeks, which he only now realized had grown damp, and her voice was filled with amusement as her eyes brimmed with a fondness he’d so desperately missed.

“Silly,” she breathed out, “I think you’ve forgotten how uncannily similar you and Mycroft always had looked, especially as kids.”

Sniffling, Sherlock tried his best to weakly make a joke, “Not exactly the most reassuring thing to say.”

“Why not?” she looked genuinely confused as she delicately wiped his falling tears away; the tears he could no longer be bothered to hold back when the emotional turmoil had gotten the best of him and tugged forth every feeling he’d tried to silence.

With a watery half-laugh, he explained, “Well, what if you found him just as dashing?”

“You’re not the sharpest tool in the shed, now, are you?” still cradling his warm skin like one would to an invaluable treasure, she hesitated for a second before lowering herself onto his lap, the new proximity causing Sherlock’s breath to hitch in his throat like a teenager’s would.

Arching his brow (despite knowing he looked anything but intimidating at the moment), he quipped, “Twice in a row I’ve had my intelligence insulted.”

“Well, only an idiot would think I’d ever think of comparing the man who has me so smitten with anyone else,” her hands slowly traced down a path to the back of his neck, hooking around the corded muscle, and he could see his longing and lovesick reflection in her eyes, “No matter how alike you might look, I’ll always see the world of a difference between you and him.”

He cautiously leaned in, hope bursting at the seams under his skin; hope that all was in fact not lost, hope that he could still grasp her between his fingers and not have her slip away. “A good difference, I’d wager?”

And now that they were so close he could retrace every single dot and line he’d almost but not quite forgotten, he could see the glint of gold deep down her neckline; the metallic hue of the wedding ring he’d labored so hard to afford hooked on a thin chain around their neck and hidden underneath her clothes.

If she saw the tears dripping down his face, she made no comment on it, instead murmuring against his lips, “The best kind.”

Taglist: @sherlockscumslut @lilias-highlights @thispersoniscrazy

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