#nonverbal reader

[romanticgumchewer]

what are the geese like with a reader who goes nonverbal

i have been having a time (and by a time i mean i have gone nonverbal) so i wanted to help myself cope by imagining my geese, my little goslings, being nice to me lol

driver: honestly, if you're going nonverbal he's probably doing it right along with you. takes you home from whatever event and turns on a comfort movie on a low volume back at your shared apartment. neither of you speaks and it's exactly what you needed.

ryland grace: since this man has barely any control over his own mouth, he doesn't totally Get It at first. probably things you're just mad at him. but then you explain and he's just like oooohhhhhh. does research on it. asks you lots of questions in order to fully understand what you need from him in those moments. after he has gathered the proper findings, he is so so caring the next time you go nonverbal. getting you a little treat, explaining to others, setting you up with comforting things.

officer k: especially if you're his partner in the LAPD, he takes over the reigns of an investigation where you usually would. questioning suspects. talking with other officers on evidence. picks up...not your slack. he never calls it that. picks up where you left off. gets your work done so you don't feel even more overwhelmed.

lars lindstrom: you saw how he was with bianca. just...the fucking sweetest!!!! whispers to you so softly when you're in a social setting. tells everyone you talk to in the most normal way that you don't feel like talking right now, and knows you so well that he can mostly respond for you. but when you want him to tell someone something, all you gotta do is tug on his sleeve, and he bends over so you can whisper in his ear.

holland march: another man who does not understand what is going on for a while. doesn't understand when you go to your bedroom and close the door, needing quiet and silence even from yourself. so when he joins you awhile later with a big ole sundae to share and an apology for something he didn't do already scripted, you explain. He gets it. he wishes his mind would shut up like that with alcohol involved. leaves you to it with a melting sundae and a very awkward dad smile.

colt seavers: imagine you are at a wrap party. imagine getting overstimulated and going nonverbal during the middle of it. you're standing next to colt, who is deeply engrossed in conversation with someone else, and you just go quiet. he's a pretty social guy so he doesn't notice for a minute. but when he does? he's asking if you're okay and leading you away to a more secluded corner of the party. setting you up with a water and giving you some earbuds he carries around just for occasions like this. and he doesn't leave your side the rest of the night. people come up and talk to him still but he doesnt leave you. not for one second.

sierra six: after a particularly rough mission (maybe one where you go undercover as a couple) you go nonverbal in the aftermath. sitting by yourself, zoning out, trying to regulate. six isn't much for emotions or for a lot of talking in general, but when he notices you like that he does sit with you. no touching. no talking. not expecting anything from you. just company. you appreciate it more than he knows.

sebastian wilder: he sees you getting overstimulated at the club from across the room. his significant other waitress with shaking hands and a frazled look in their eye. you're giving clipped, short answers to customers. you don't want to be rude. you're trying not to be, but your brain and body can't take the jazz and the chatter any longer after pulling two open to closes in a row. seb pulls you to the side and offers you a pair of earplugs and a "15 minutes. then you can head out. i'll cover for you." you could cry and you almost do as you throw your arms around him.

ryan gosling taglist part 1 -

@electronicheartpersona @rommies @anixszci @leahuzumakisblog @scarlinrouge @penquinsarecool @toddthebitch @stormyparker @loganskittycatears @mercyismymom @yourfavpersonalityhire @downsobadforthatoneguy @caitsmissinglefteye @taycepascal @toneystank-3000 @tinnygems @mrsandorbby @daniiibananiii @acidwhiskey @munchkin1923 @lastwandastan @ladybirdbeetle7

@bbeadyeyes @mcmjsts @100percentlazybonez @eimethyst @jackiebabieee @flwer555 @unknownplayr @caramelsugarcookies @miaaaoa @deadlymistress24 @justatiredhuman @fyodorslave @scoredlobster68 @ailishmgk @gneepgnrop @alaniuser @mak-in-cheese @mothhballl @ghostslittleprincess @loki-kinda-scared-chat @leonkennedyslefthand @laurasenchantment

@nellandvoid @diieyourdaughter @cestlavie03 @sweetdayme4427 @one-lengthiness36 @imjustagirltryingtowrite @ufoev3 @whatislifebutlemons @cherry-467 @doveyblues @paintballkid711 @midnighttithe @yeahboyd0llfac3 @kristip1319

[layne-star]

Johnny with reader who’s scared of anger.

SFW, comfort

You’ve always been quick to fear. Like a scared fawn. Any anger makes you shut down, shake, go silent. It’s not until a few months into your relationship with Johnny that he sees it - the prey-like response. He didn’t mean to sound angry, and it definitely wasn’t angry at you, yet you still shut down. Turned into a baby deer. He’s learned that you can take a lot, but not anger. And that’s okay.

There was a day where you came home in that state. Well, you were masking it pretty hard. But it fell apart when Johnny asked you how your day was.

“Bon..” He wrapped his arms around you as you started to cry very quietly into his shirt.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry for being so weak.” You warbled.

“Not weak, lovey.” The scot hummed into your ear before he kissed it gently. “Do you want to talk about it? What happened?”

You flinched as your brain replayed the anger you faced today. You shake your head. Johnny pet back your hair. “Lets just go cuddle on the couch then, mm?” He offers.

So you do. Curled up in a ball, not crying but still in that anxious state. Johnny holds your face in his palms, rubbing the pads of his thumbs over your cheeks and kissing your forehead over and over. Ever so slowly you come back to the present. You smiled gently, and he smiled back tenfold. “There’s my good baby.” He praises.

[lovinglotsacharacters]

Your own migraine era

CW: reader has a migraine, probably could be read for all seasons Spencer. Mention of nausea, aphasic/nonverbal reader

Spencer reid x reader

Tears soaked through your pillow as you tried to slowly suck in a breath that didn't hurt. It was basically impossible, seeing that every movement hurt, and crying made your head pound harder with the dehydration. The pain had evolved, from a dull ache over your eye, to a pounding, constant, consuming stabbing, coming in wave after wave.

Spencer was right next to you, dead asleep. You hated waking him, and you wondered, had your pain not been immobilizing, if you would wake him anyways. You probably wouldn't, a voice in your head verified.

He was never peaceful in sleep, but now he was untouched by nightmares. You couldn't help but be glad that you weren't making noise, waking him would feel worse than this.

Senselessly, you were convinced you could sleep it off.

That was over an hour ago. Now, blueish light dripped through the curtains, and you forced your eyes shut again.

Trying to pull in a breath, a sob left you instead, leaving a splitting pain in it's wake. Out of instinct, you sobbed again. And again. And soon, Spencer was wide awake with worry.

“Angel?– Angel!” He started with a mumble. Once his eyes opened, he reached for you. “Are you okay? Why didn't you wake me up?”

“Sshhhh…” Was all you could muster as your hand met his shoulder. “It… hurts… t– breathe–” you croaked, another sob escaping you. “Hurts– so– much–” god, hiccuping made the throbbing worse.

His hands were on you in a moment, cradling you as you clawed at him. “Where– where does it hurt, angel?”

The thought of speaking made a whimper leave you without warning. “M'head.” You figured that if you'd be in pain, you might as well lean into him. So you did. “M– migraine.”

Spencer frowned, kissing your forehead as he laid you back. “I'll be right back.” He said quickly. His silhouette attempted to stand, but he stayed tethered to your hand. “I'm gonna get you some ice and water– meds too–”

He turned to leave and you pulled him back with a whine.

Sympathetic eyes met yours, creased at the brow in deep longing. “I'll be right back.” He said again, parting with a kiss to your wrist.

His absence somehow made the pain worse… He'd be able to explain that. Probably dopamine blocking the pain signals.

You hated that he could make you think while your head was being split open.

Soon enough, your boyfriend did, in fact, return. He gently eased you up, placed a wet cloth behind your neck, handed you a glass of water, and medication.

“Are you nauseous?” He asked in as soft a voice he could manage.

You shook your head before you took whatever pills he gave you. Maybe it was concerning, how easily you put yourself in his care. Or romantic. You didn't care anymore.

“Is there an aura?”

You forced your eyes open, seeing regularly, but your right hand felt tingly in the way it did before it went numb. Raising it clunkily, you held it up and shook it slightly to signal that it was getting there.

Spencer sighed and nodded, taking your hand in his. “Does it hurt anywhere else?” He asked, kissing the back of your hand.

“M-n.” you croaked, closing your eyes again. “G'nna sleep it off…”

“Ok- okay.” He said, slowly climbing into bed with you again. When his back was to the headboard, he let your head rest on his thighs so he could play with you hair. “Is this alright?”

With a sob, you forced yourself up, pressing your palm to his chest.

“Y'wanna lay on me?” he asked, glancing down with the sweetest eyes. It took everything in you not to sob again.

You nodded, fingers lightly tugging his shirt.

“I got it.” Spencer chuckled at your impatience. Eventually, you rested your head against his heart, curling tightly into his side.

“You haven't spoken much,” he pointed out. Spencer kept his voice in a near silent whisper. “Are you experiencing aphasia?”

The reality of it killed you. Every word felt foreign on your tongue, and you knew all you could say would be incomprehensible gibberish. Aphasia was one of the signs that you were having one of your worst ones.

With a new wave of pain hit you. With tears welling again, you nodded.

Spencer held you tighter, kissing the back of your head. “It's okay.” He murmured, his thumb stroking your temple. “It's very common– you don't have to speak.”

The frustration of trying would have mad you cry even more.

Now, you were simply clinging to him as you let out pained sniffles and weak sobs. Eventually, the exhaustion got to you, and you fell asleep in his arms.

[jenovious]

⟢ Transmission

cover: x-men '92 #3 takeda manga bubble gum variant + pinterest board

synopsis: you belong to an alien race that is derived from the shi'ar. your descendants, the shi'ar, are an avian-descended humanoid race of extraterrestrial beings that hail from the planet chandilar. due to your fondness of creative arts, both your race & the shi'ar who inhabit M-31 look down upon you. they have successfully neglected you. this has led you to become a member of the x-men. (For better, or worse.)

content: reader is nonverbal, writer just wanted an excuse to write an alien reader, so traits are muddled as a result.

word count: 2,070

⟢

You get the feeling the other X-Men don't quite understand you. You could be wrong; maybe they do. It's just not in the way that Remy does.

Ever since he had found you abandoned, it was obvious he had a fascination with you. Ever since you two had met, you were bound at the hip.

It was strange.

The way your eyes suddenly lit up as you peered into Remy's own, the way your feathers puffed up when he'd come far too close. He smelt so good, and his flesh felt addictive. When he brought you onto his ship, your hands touched briefly. Your forked tongue couldn't help but fly out the side of your mouth from the sensation; your feathers bristled.

The interaction was electrifying, and that's exactly how you knew you simply had to have more. You had no preconceived notions about Earth back then; now you do.

But you don't really understand this. You're having a hard time understanding him. The home he inhabits is large, accommodating a large group of mutants. Everyone in the household is kind to you, yet some speak to you more than others. You do not mind.

You study patterns, collect and compare data. After a while, everyone becomes predictable. The one your team calls Logan is ill-tempered, but he is kind-hearted. He can be found around the basketball court or in the danger room.

He is fond of alcoholic beverages. You learned this the hard way.

"You really like dat t'ing den , huh?" He's staring at you from the door frame, arms crossed languidly.

Your claws keep toying with the metal staff. You have the urge to wrap your whole body around it, but you pull your eyes away from the weapon to meet Remy's. He looks amused, yet something else overrides his features.

Mutants and humans alike have a lot of different words for emotions of this variant. From your research, you've learned this is called concern.

He is still keen on you, though, you can tell because of his scent. He smells peppery, with a twinge of amber. He masks his scent, his usual cologne adding a note of sandalwood. You found out that's another odd thing he does. The smell is stronger now, the pheromones making your tail perk up at its end. What has concerned your mutant?

"You a metal bender now cheré?"

He closes the distance between the two of you, and his scent infiltrates your mind. It's gradual at first—then all at once. You let the warped piece of metal fall onto the mattress beneath you.

The bed frame creeks when Remy sits down beside you. "'S'all good, t'ink I know exactly where you can put that strength ta' use." You only tilt your head curiously at him, wondering if he'll stay this time.

You still do not understand why he feels so strongly about giving you a "room." Remy informs you that for humans (and mutants), privacy is important, but you cannot understand what's so private about an enclosed box with a smaller, softer box in the middle.

You much preferred sharing a room with your trusted mutant, but apparently, sleeping together was not socially acceptable behavior. Apparently, that was reserved for moments of intimacy. You also learned this the hard way.

Despite this, Remy is in your private space right now, so you try to please him by giving him all sorts of "intimate" attention.

"Magneto asked me ta' wrangle up a'nother mutant. Told 'em I bring you along."

You're on your feet immediately, and your tail slaps between the floorboards and the edge of the wooden bed frame. He doesn't even say jump, but no doubt your response would be something like how high.

You chirp instead, chittering in a manner that signals that you comply. Though Remy is not fluent, he seems very proficient in understanding your vocal cues and body language.

"We go 'n get'chu some dinner afterward, yah?"

You chirp again, though this time you drawl it out, curl it so it sounds more like a trill. You don't miss the impish smile that crosses his features.

You've been keeping a journal of sorts, one to document your favorite experiences on earth thus far. Last week, you made the mistake of leaving it out in the main room.

Though he could not understand the scribblings of your language, he must have understood your attempts at spelling out the words and making deductions. He must've understood your careful illustrations; nothing extravagant, just the burger and fries he had gotten for you last week.

Something about his scent changes now; it doesn't dwindle, but it mingles with something else. The scent isn't unwelcome, it just isn't his. It belongs to someone younger, and it's sweet rather than musky. It reminds you of the sticky fluid you saw Rogue putting on her pancakes last week.

Remy leans forward on the bed now, his legs on either side of the staff, "Hold your horses now, you gone 'ave to bend this back into shape." You already have your back turned to him.

There, with the door left ajar, you're able to make out the form of Jubilee, seeing the shade of her yellow coat. You crook your head to the side at her appearance, and you croon at her like a hummingbird.

"Mmm?"

"Oh!" She exclaims.

"I heard something about dinner is all…Soo, like, count me in?"

⟢

It does not take long to wrangle the children, thankfully. In fact, you've only needed to gather one child.

From the data you've gathered, you learn this is far from the first occurrence of her running away. You don't quite understand why a mutant would run away from adequate housing. You assume she's not getting her needs met. You don't bring it up during the walk to the diner; you simply keep your eyes steady on the sidewalk.

"Stop taking her to these old hole-in-the-wall places. Next time, I'm choosing!" Jubilee states from somewhere behind you. You hear her footsteps drawing closer, closing the distance that was once between her and Remy.

Remy shrugs, and you hear the silver buckles on his coat clink together. "Lemme guess p'tite, you wanna take 'er to de mall?"

"Well, no duh." Jubilee clicks her tongue, Becca lets out a huff of air; something that resembles stifled laughter.

"And wha 'bout horse girl? You think Gambit got class, no?"

"No way, you are not bringing me into this." Becca wags her finger in his direction.

Everyone is speaking of something you have not yet familiarized yourself with, but it dawns on you that they have been speaking about you. He holds the door open for the kids, doesn't move when they enter. You peer down at him inquisitively when you pass.

Unsurprisingly, the restaurant smells exactly as you had envisioned. Greasy, and excessively sweet. You suspect that he has a preference for this sort of thing.

With your feathers littered across your skin instead of thin-hairs, and your head nearly brushing the ceiling—You should feel out of place here. You stand behind Remy, your form overshadowing his own. He does not seem to mind.

Becca nudges him in the side, then whispers, "Can we sit at the booth?"

"Shame you t'ink I'd want it any other way chérie."

You follow the team to this so-called booth, standing behind each X-Men to observe their behavior. Seemingly, A booth is just a table with odd-looking chairs.

You think it bizarre, but so are you.

Becca slides into one side, then Jubilee takes the other. They both seem well-acquainted with the place and each other, so this only makes sense.

"Mmm?" Your eyes smooth over his form again, drawn to his eyes. Your blank stare meets his own.

He hums low; you feel it through your feathers, it sends a thrill somewhere down your spine. You're receptive to his vocalizations. Receptive to him.

When he speaks again, he motions to the table, "Don't matter to me none, you go 'head cheré." It's soft, patient. Like he's not in any rush to get back to the mansion.

You slide your body to the far right corner of the leather bench, till your elbow presses against the trim of the window. Remy sits down beside you shortly after, barely occupying the space at all. He has the mass of an average human, you'd say, but you want to give him as much space as possible. Even if it's rather uncomfortable.

A human comes over and places a few books of laminated paper on your table before leaving. You know she'll be back soon, so you take the menu between your taloned hands.

You try your best to make sense of it, though to you, it's just a bunch of muddled colors and perplexing descriptions. You flip to the third page, and things start to look more familiar again. A bacon cheeseburger and steak cut fries.

"Can you order for us?" Jubilee asks, her voice cutting through your thoughts.

There's that look again, concern. You see it in the way he knits his brows; you notice the sweat that lines them. You don't hear it in his tone; it's something tucked away as soon as it comes.

"'Course, long as you need p'tite." Jubilee nods her head, then she's gone, disappearing behind the restaurant to the restroom.

You look back at the booth in front of you, but Becca is nowhere to be seen either.

it's just the two of you now.

Remy deflates, and you watch all the tension leave his muscles. It's nestled somewhere else now. His hand is tucked away in his pocket, hidden under the table. You aren't sure why, but you place your hand over the shape of his, almost like an experiment.

You heard that touch is good for humans, especially when their cortisol levels are elevated. Remy isn't exactly human, and your claws do not look as aesthetically pleasing as fingers—but you hope to encourage feelings of safety.

You chatter softly at him. It's nothing he can understand, yet a part of you wonders if it'll soothe him. You both feel a bit of each other, yet the fabric prevents direct contact. Through it, you feel something rectangular. He's twiddling with it.

There's no speaking for a while, not until the lady comes back. Somehow, Remy knows exactly what to get for the girls. You're still unsure, so you point to a photo on the menu. The woman walks away again, and you feel a thumb brush against your own.

"A float, hm? Y'got good taste,"

"Mmm."

You aren't able to provide much commentary, but Remy speaks to you anyway.

You find it bizarre, but so is he.

He keeps speaking—and you've heard Logan say that Remy could talk for hours, that you either love hearing him talk or hate it. You've never felt anything of the latter. Even if Remy's charms had worked on you, you doubt it'd be this effective. You like hearing him talk because he's also good at listening; good at decoding, too.

You always know when he has something to say; usually, you can feel it. Right now, you feel how soft his fingers are when they rub against your own. You usually see those same fingers wrapped around a thin white stick.

"She from a troubled home, sometimes…She get scared."

"Mmhm…" You murmur.

It takes you a while to realize he's speaking of Becca. Suddenly, everything makes a lot more sense. You understand it, even. You never thought you'd be able to take up this much space, either. You croon again, and your eyes wander back over to the restroom. For the first time, something in your expression changes, and you feel something akin to concern. Wonder.

Remy must see it too, because he's soft with you. "They be back soon, cheré, can promise you that." You theorize that's something he'll make sure of.

With a nod, you draw your hand away from his. You're quite fond of his warmth; it's something you find yourself pining for it as soon as it's gone. It comes in the form of this gnawing pain; it feels like something is eating away at your stomach.

You're hungry.

"Mmm?" You call for his attention again. This time, you point at one of the main courses on the menu.

"Anythin' you need 'ta know."

⟢

. . .

At some point in time, Becca and Jubilee return. Somehow, the girls order before either of you do.

[sol-aranea]

Card Spring

gambit x nonverbal! reader

WARNINGS: gender neutral reader, extreme spoilers for episode 2, badly written dialogue for Remy, grief, the reader goes nonverbal, not proofread, complete fluff, self indulgent, I needed comfort.

SPOILERS UNDER THE CUT!!!!

After Storm leaves, a nonverbal reader sticks to their room, playing with old cards she’d given them. Gambit decides to teach them some tricks to try to cheer them up.

My eyes focus solely on the cards in my hands. The red and black letters and numbers flash as I try to spring them from one hand to the other. At least one always finds its way on my blanket. My legs crossed, they fall into the space in my lap, semi-contained until a knock forces me out of my daze. The cards fly from my hands, scattering on the mattress and falling to the floor. I sniffle, climbing down desperately to gather them as quickly as I can. The door opens as I find my favorite card, one that Remy had painted. The Ace of Hearts is painted over, the black paint hiding the original art. A bright red heart is centered, an anarchy symbol in the middle. I tucked it into the deck silently, my chest tightening as I find the Ace of Spades, the one Ororo had painted. The light blue is combined with white lightning that intersects to create an ‘A’. Her line work was made up of words she wanted to convey to me. She spoke of our friendship, our sibling-hood, the reasons why she gave me the deck. Tears fell for the fourth time that day when I saw the card.

The Ace of Clubs and the Ace of Diamonds both lay on the bed, unpainted. Logan and Rogue were supposed to paint theirs, but never got around to it. Logan’s had a thin white base coat, the letters still seen through the first and only coat. He’d gotten bored, and got up and left Remy, Ororo, and I at the table where we were painting. 

“Cher?” Remy’s voice shocked me out of my thoughts. I looked up, finding him in my doorway, a concerned look on his face. He must’ve saw my red and puffy eyes, and decided to enter. I finished gathering my cards, and nestled myself back into the nest of blankets I’d made. He sat down on the edge of my bed tenderly, his usual joking demeanor gone. “Jean says you’re not talkin’?” I didn’t look at him, instead opting to try to spring the cards again. I tried with my hands closer than before, being more careful to not let them fall. I still failed.

“Like that nonverbal thing you was talkin’ about?” He tilted his head, trying to see my reaction. I nodded, semi-successfully springing in the meantime. I lost a few cards, but not nearly as many as the previous attempts. Remy’s eyes fell to my hands, recognizing the deck immediately. He watched me struggle for a minute before scooting closer to me. He used some spare blankets to make himself a nest, and leaned in to watch my “technique.”

“Mon ami, what is this hand doing?” He sighed, pointing at my left hand. I demonstrated how I was catching the cards with the hand, and he shook his head. “You want your pinky out like this,” he stuck out his own hand, showing how he would hold the deck himself. “That way, the cards can’t fall out your hand.”

When I tried the way he showed me, I lost less cards. I smiled a little, testing the new hold. After a minute, he nodded. “Good! Now, that other hand? Needs work.” He pulled his own deck from his pocket, explaining how to hold the cards so that there was air between each card, making it easier to make each individual card spring on it’s own. “This makes the cards not go all choppy. Makes it smooth!” I nodded, observing his hands closely. 

Half an hour passed, and my tears were dry, and I had a decent deck spring under my belt. I smiled at Remy, and he grinned back. “On the road to becomin’ me!” He went quiet for a minute, watching me practice before he spoke up.

"It's gonna be okay." He said quietly. "We're gonna get 'er back." I looked down at my cards, nodding sullenly. "She's gonna be okay." I wiped my tears away and sniffed. She would want me to be strong about this. Remy smiled when I tucked my cards into their box and removed myself from my nest.

"You want some beignets?" He grinned when I nodded, and threw his arm around my shoulder. As he led me out of my room, I tucked my deck into my pocket, deciding to use it as a reminder of who I was fighting for in the battles to come.

[mayyhaps]

when i drown in silence (who will pull me out)

anyone x reader. you’re comforted during a nonverbal episode.

content : 0.8k ノfirst person pov, hurt/comfort, angst, neurodivergent!reader, implied but unspecified cause for nonverbal episode. single use of " [ ] " in place of a name for some silly reason. ノ m.list

there is something vague inside of me that has swallowed me whole. when i dive inside my mind i find i am floating in the blue, thin rays of sunlight illuminating ripples of thought, silently quelled in the stillness - suffocated.

is it floating, then, if the surface is so far above me - if my limbs, weightless, cannot reach - if the burning of my lungs only pulls me down? what do my lungs fight so hard for, that they must protect? only my heart nestles between them, but its chamber is fragile. so be it, i think savagely, let them burst - and i let myself fall away.

so why, so why then is my heart outside of me?

i can feel its fierce warmth against my fisted hands, and it beats against my ear. steady, steady, steady. listen. listen to it go. slow and sure and true. "what are you sure of?" i would like to say. "what do you hold on to? why is it me?" but when i open my mouth the sound is trapped behind a wall of hardened air.

"are you okay?" my heart asks me again. 

i am okay. i am always okay, and i'm the most okay when i'm not. i want to tell him not to worry, that i'm only floating. if i dive within me to find how i feel i will break the surface empty-handed. choking on nothing.

how do i feel? how do i feel? i do not believe i have felt anything in my life. "please, don't worry," i would like to say. "it doesn't matter to me at all."

"i love you," my heart says.

i feel the vibrations against the side of my face as he speaks. and the fear. my mouth forms the shape of "i love you too" but my vocal cords are imprisoned in ice. nothing will come. will he still love me, even through my silence? i am suddenly certain that his arms will slip from around me and he will step back. it will only be one step but one is the start of two, then three, then four. each step will take my heart further away. until - even when the wave of silence engulfing me comes crashing down - its sweeping currents will not reach him - and without my heart i will cease. 

grooves. in his skin. in the hard muscle of his back. that is what he is telling me as he steps back. he is stepping away. even as i watch, still floating, still sinking, his arms slip from around me. i am not floating. i am not sinking. i am drowning. he steps back.

"you'll hurt yourself," he says softly. his hands are on my arms, tugging lightly. my grip on his shirt comes away. as he lifts my hands to his lips i stare at the threads of fabric caught in my nails, at my skin rubbed raw. his mouth brushes over my knuckles. his hands engulf mine. no, they cradle mine. in his firm grip i cannot drown.

his eyes meet mine. i do not blink. my eyes sting slightly and i realise that i have not blinked in a while. i probably should.

"are you okay?" [ ] says again, and i remember now, what i'm supposed to do. my hands squeeze his - once, twice, three times, four. soon. in a little.

i know the next question before he asks it. 

"do you want me to—" 

one. yes. 

i don't let go of him. his arms tighten around me, and i press my face to his chest again, the beat of his heart. my anchor.

"you are my heart outside me. you are everything," i would like to say.

his body encases mine, curving around it gently, framing it. this is where you are, he is telling me, and i am here. the way the sky meets the sea. they define each other. he is my horizon. 

his body encases mine, cushions it, like his lungs around his heart. my face breaks the surface of the water. when he kisses me once, gently, i realise i can breathe again. i dive inside my mind and find that endless expanse of blue, and sunlight, dancing in his eyes. he has pulled me onto a raft and we are floating with the current, silhouetted against the open lightness of the sky. he doesn't let go of my hand. he knows i fear falling again. he won't let me.

"i love you too," i want to say, but instead i kiss him back. i am not quite ready to speak - there's still water in my lungs and my vision is still steadying, fixed upon his face - his forehead against mine, the sunlight in his eyes. slowly breathing warmth through my chilled body.

i have not been able to speak, yet, but he has always been listening.

[npookie0]

Hi! Can I request something? It's my first time requesting in tumblr Here I go! Can you do a one-shot with V with a reader who's a mute? I sorta need a comfort fic right now. If It's okay! I love your Ronin fanfic about it

Loud in the Silence.

V x mute!g.n.reader, comfort, fluff

Words: 3354

Cws: spoilers for Killer Chat!

"Mx Y/n, please try to say 'hi'." Your therapist told you, she's been telling you the same thing for years now.

Years of speaking exercises, therapy and many other exhausting things. Even with so many procedures, you were still unable to talk and your doctors were slowly losing all hope for your case. Every doctor you visited kept on reassuring you that you can overcome your muteness, but no matter how much effort you've put into the exercises, it all ended in vain.

This time was no different, you were leaving the doctor's office, resignation in the man's eyes, exhaustion on his face. You were a lost cause, you accepted it a long time ago. Not speaking wasn't so terrible... alright it was. It was a lot. You hated it, hated being treated like a lost child, like someone weak who needs others to do things for them, the special treatment. Being treated like some kind of alien because of your muteness was the worst.

I'm used to this. You kept on telling yourself, bottling your feelings inside, shutting away from the world and people who hurt you.

You've reached home, put your bag on its place, kicked off your shoes and made your way to your study-bedroom to work some more on your serial killer book. You wanted to be a new promising criminal novelist, that was your dream since forever.

Writing was the only form of escapism for you, the only thing you didn't feel judged for not talking. People only cared about the words you wrote, not the ones you said. It brought you comfort, something to keep you away from these overwhelming thoughts that made your mind so unbearably heavy.

This doesn't feel right".

You grunted in frustration, erasing a whole freshly filled page. This character, they felt so unrealistic, the murder was poorly executed, nothing made sense. You will never be a great author if you will continue on like this. It was fine time you touched some... less than legal resources.

After days of leaving interesting question on the dark web and feared your IP getting leaked anytime you received a reply to your posts.

You opened the site, wrote up a new post and clicked "send" then you noticed a new private message, you opened the chat, the person was marked as unknown. Of course they were. They sent you a link and a key, you were curious so you opened the link and filled in the password.

A chatting site showed up on your screen, you were in the main channel that slowly got flooded with welcoming messages. It was weird. A server with eight members, made specifically on the dark web of all places. It definitely screamed trouble from distance, but you already joined and there was an active threat that whoever owns the server has your IP, so why not stay?

<Y/n>: Hello, thanks for the warm welcome.

You sent your first message.

<goreboy>: your welcome darlin' <goreboy>: check out the rules, there's not much but y'know

You took a note of the person by the name "goreboy" words and entered the channel.

<goreboy>: be a serial killer, First rule of fight club <goreboy>: oh yeah and don't be transphobic, racist and just weird or angel will Snipe ya

<Angelic> And that's a promise, not a threat.

Serial killer? That has to be a joke or some stupid roleplay.

You thought, it was the most logical conclusion you could come up with. These people couldn't be serial killers, why would serial killers make a whole server anyway? It's probably some silly roleplay made by bored people who were too deep into their roleplay and decided to use the dark web as their domain. Yes, that sounds logical.

But what if these are real serial killers?

Doubts began to cloud your mind, there was no reason for them to lie about this either. You had to find out the truth some way. Asking them about it would be suspicious. A supposed serial killer asking other serials if they truly are who they say they are? Yeah that's your one way ticked to a grave.

You scanned the server members and an idea came to your mind.

Why not ask a specific person about their identity?

That idea should work, there was no way it would flop, or so you hoped.

<Y/n>: @/K9, are you the serial killer who kills other bad people?

You sent the message. Why did you choose that person? You didn't know, this member seemed to be the most interesting out of all the others.

<K9>: I refuse to be associated with these wild beast. I am a vigilante.

<goreboy>: don't Listen to v, he's As killer as The rest of us are.

Oh, I am seriously in a den of serial killers... how exciting.

Logic told you to leave, call the police and let them handle this, but something stopped you. You could use this as an opportunity to shape your story, get to know how the other serials operate, get inside their heads in a way. What better way to learn than by making them believe that you are one of them?

Two weeks had passed, you've been enjoying your time playing pretend with the killers and hoping that they won't learn about your serial killer persona being just an act.

You entered the #killer_shit channel to see some discourse started by Misaki about blood art, a curious choice for a topic, but these people also talked about gutting someone open or what torture methods are the most painful.

<goreboy>: hey Y/n, you've Been here for weeks by Now and we still don't know shit about ya <goreboy> isn't it a li'l weird?

Shit.

Of course, it couldn't be too easy. You should have expected them to catch up on the way you were more of a lurker and that you rarely participated in murder talk.

<LUCA_IS_SO_COOL>: Yeah dude you're totally rightttt

<Y/n>: Isn't being a mystery a good thing? ^^"

You didn't really know what to do so you had to improvise. A serial killer could want to not reveal a lot about themselves, right?

<goreboy>: i mean, if ya Want someone To open you up and see your li'l secrets then im After the job, darlin'

Okay maybe being an enigma wasn't such a great idea as you originally thought.

<goreboy>: c'mon, let's have A voice call Reveal

<hitmeuppp>: OMG yesss we should do that!!!

<LUCA_IS_SO_COOL>: I second this!!!1

<Felicite>: I third this...!

Oh you are in so much trouble.

You obviously can't join the call, unless you magically overcome your muteness in five seconds or less and telling them that you have to stay on mute would make you sound like some cop trying to get information about them.

Your hands were sweating as they hoovered over the keyboard, barely tapping on the letters you wrote.

<Y/n>: I'm very sorry, I can't call now.

You left the chat after you sent this, too stressed to see their replies, you didn't want to see their disappointment or anger.

While you were worrying about the consequences of your words, a pop up shown on your screen; K9 wants to DM you.

You blinked a few times. What does he want?

V didn't strike you as someone who would message you out of the blue, he didn't show up on the server much after you joined, unless Ronin made a new announcement or the topic was "immoral" enough.

You agreed to the request and then received a message.

<K9>: Is there a reason for your inability to call right now?

Oh wow, he's forward.

You bit your lower lip. What should you do now? Lie? Tell the truth? You didn't want to hide the truth about being mute, but seeing it in your texts with someone felt humiliating.

Then, another idea popped into your mind. It was risky, could fail or give you more trouble, but it could also make one serial killer (or a vigilante in this case) side with you.

You prepared the item for your plan and called V, not asking him if is able to have a short call now.

To your surprise he picked up and he looked better than you could ever imagine a serial killer to look like. Beautiful eyes that looked at your coldly and judgemental, dark braids put up in a ponytail and falling down his shoulders. He looked majestic, you can't remember ever seeing as handsome.

Stop, stop, stop. This is not the time for this.

You scolded yourself in your mind, you can dote over the way he looks some other time, you had a plan to go through with.

Before you could say anything you moved the notebook that you were nervously holding in your hands to the camera, somehow the text on it wasn't inverted.

You watched him mouth the message you wrote; I am mute, I can't speak. His face froze in shock, shock turning into understanding.

Not pity, not sadness, not disgust like some other people you knew. Just pure understanding, acceptance. It almost made you tear up. For the first time someone didn't judge you for your disability, didn't flood you with uncomfortable questions or declared that they'll teach you how to speak.

"I see. it would be truly uncomfortable to join a call in this situation." He said.

Oh gosh, even his voice is just amazing.

You nodded your head and wrote another message, showing him the notebook again; Yes, I don't think that I'm ready to share it with the whole server, yet.

"Ah, of course, that's completely understable. You are in no way obligated to tell anyone about your situation." Hs words were rational, they were what you already knew, but for some reason they felt comforting. It felt validating to know that there was someone who agreed with you, who didn't expect you to spill everything out.

I'm glad you understand me.

You could swear that there was a hint of a smile on his lips.

"Well, now that we're here, do you feel comfortable answering my questions?"

Here we go again with the interrogation, why can't they just leave me alone?

At least this time you have a way out of this; Can we do it some other time? Admitting my disability was already a lot. It wasn't a complete lie, you did feel overwhelmed by coming clean about your muteness like this.

"Ah, yes of course, rest well, Y/n." V said before he hung up.

You were left alone with your thoughts again and the open draft for your story that you still needed to build a protagonist for. You will think about it some other time... You are in a dire need of rest now.

Some time later and you were on another call with V, this time he knew your made up serial killer alias, you learned his Modus Operandi and he decided to play a game of 20-but-I-will-make-it-3-since-you-so-kindly-asked questions on a call with you.

"Were you born mute?" His first question was bold, but you were expecting questions like this, even though other people usually make them sound much more gentle.

Yes, I can't remember ever saying a word in my life, nor does my mother or the doctors we visited. You replied, using your notebook again. V was very much alright with this method of communication, or he just never expressed having anything against your conversations looking like this.

"Mhm. I see." His response was simple, not prying on any more details than what you were ready and comfortable with revealing. You could respect him for this, it even made you feel very happy for some reason. "Do you not know sign language?" This question was... unexpected. No one was ever interested in that part, well mostly because they didn't know how to sign themselves.

Writing this reply took you longer than you thought, because you never had to think about an answer for so long before. I never felt the need to learn, more people knows how to read then how to sign and it's simpler. You didn't add the part about not having enough people in your life to learn how to sign for, he didn't need to know that part.

This response surprised him, he probably never met someone so laid back in a way when it comes to things like that. "Oh, I understand. Well, I know how American, British, German and a few other versions of sign language, if you'd ever feel the need I could teach you."

His offer caught you off of guard, V telling you that he could teach you how to sign? You thought that this could be a dream with how surreal it seamed. He was especially kind to you for the time you knew him, sure, but to the extend that he'd spend his time on being a teacher for a mute (supposed) serial killer? The more time you spend with him the more surprising V turned to be.

"Are you not okay with this?" You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn't realise that you still haven't replied to him.

Oh, no, no! I'm really thankful for the offer, I could consider taking you up on this if I ever felt like it. You replied and gave him a big beaming smile. Somehow the thought of V trying to teach you how to sign was exciting to you, it made the butterflies in your stomach flutter.

Oh, I'm so lost in this game.

The realisation was hard, sure, even confusing. Falling for a vigilante was never in your plans when you took this journey, but was it a bad thing? Well, yes! You could end up dead if he found you out, thought whenever you tried to bring you not being a writer up to him ended with him scoffing and saying that he knows how Ronin operates and that he'd never invite a non serial to the server.

Maybe it won't be as bad as you think it could be? V is tender, caring, he is easily flustered, his smile is sweet and he's a protector who deeply loves his animals, even if he never admits to the last part. Heck! He even found a bird and name it after you, is that not a perfect romance potential then what is?

I'm seriously insane for considering a killer my potential partner... Well! Taste is subjective!

January came faster than you thought, and so did a sudden love confession from V. His words made your heart melt, you reciprocated his feelings. You would be a fool if you didn't.

You really did take him up on that sign language offer, learning the most basic and easy signs that you could need the most.

"It would be easier if I could do this with you in the room with me." V sighed when your try to sign 'where' ended up with it being very floppy and apparently making an insult in another language.

These words birthed yet another genius idea in your creative mind. Then why don't you pay me a visit? All that trying to hunt me down and I'm to believe that you have nothing on me? A bold move on your side, but you either go big or don't go at all.

V looked at you, squinting his eyes like he was thinking about something really important. "You are right my love, why don't I teach you how to sign face to face?" He gave you a soft smile. "Did I ever tell you how smart you are?"

Yes, but you're free to praise me more, love. You stuck out your tongue at him when you gave him the response and his face flushed.

"There's not enough words, or signs, that could describe your genius or beauty, my love." And now you were the one blushing and losing your words.

Damn him, and his stupidly sweet praise.

Valentine's day. What a better time to meet with your serial killer boyfriend than that? Well, you probably could think of a few dates at the top of your mind, but Valentines worked as perfect as those other days too.

You were dressed up nicely, you would be meeting V for the first time you had to look at least presentable. You were fidgeting with your pen. This was seriously stressing you out in a way that you couldn't explain.

There were the butterflies, the excitement and love, but there was also worry, at he'd find out and harm you. You trusted V, but would he trust you if he knew? It was the uncertainty that scared you so much, you couldn't expect anything from a man who fed his animals with the people he killed.

The sound of the doorbell rang in your ear. There's no time for doubts, no chance to back away now. You took a deep breath, looked at yourself for the last time in a mirror and made your way to the front door.

You opened them and felt your knees weaken when your eyes met him. As elegant as ever, with the softest of soft smile on his lips, gentleness and affection in his eyes.

You melted under his gaze. Your happiness getting the best of you because you almost pulled him into a hug.

"Hello, my love." He took your hand in his and placed a gentle kiss on the back of your hand. "You look absolutely wonderful today." He said.

With pink cheeks and new warmth in your body, you let him in, showing him the way to your living room.

The two of you sat down on the sofa, you were ready to give him a note proposing tea or coffee, but he was faster. He outsretched a hand towards you, he was holding a notebook in that hand.

With a raised eyebrow you took the notebook and opened it. You almost dropped it when you read what was written inside.

My love. No words can describe my feelings towards you, you made my life better with your presence alone, made me realise and find out so many new things about myself. I never felt this way towards anyone, I can't tell if this is how most people feel, but that is how I feel while bein in love with you.

You expressed your worry about being mute many times before, and I can't help but wonder what cruel people would ever dare to act this way and say such absurd words towards you. Mute or not, you are perfect and I am really glad that I am able to spend time in your company and have your love and be the person who you feel safe with and shared the secret with.

I love you, Valentin Viljoen.

You could feel the tears run down your cheeks. No one has ever done this for you, put so much effort into something for you. You tried to wipe away the tears, but with how many were there it was almost impossible.

You looked at V, your vision was blurry from the tears but your could see the gentle smile on his face and he cupped your face with his hands and caressed your cheeks.

"You are a good person, my love. Your heart says more than any words, you are louder than any person who can speak that I know. Communication is more than just words, it's your expressions, your actions. Don't think that your muteness makes you worse or any less of a person."

You wrapped your arms around him, hugging him tightly and letting those happy tears out.

Never in your life have you expected yourself to cry in someone's arms, know that they love you unconditionally even if they know that there are things you're hiding.

You let go off the hug and with shaky hands and the most crooked and probably stupid looking smile signed.

< I love you. >

Not even silence can conquer the feeling between the two of you.

Gahhhh it feel so good!!! I'm proud of this >w<

I want to thank my dearest discord parent Kage for making their music because it carried me through the process of writing!!!

I love you all!!! -N <3

[sharkboywrites]

Hi, saw your recent post about writing for Bauldr's gate and stuff. I was wondering if you could do something with Astarion and a nonverbal reader?

Astarion With a Nonverbal Reader

A/n: Hii sorry it's been taking me so long to get to requests. I've had a lto going on but hopefully I can write more

Gn reader, nonverbal reader

Being in your new situation, it was hard to communicate with he people around you

Everyone was tense and distrusting, and the fact that you wouldn't talk made them more suspicious of you specifically

It was hard to communicate with everyone around you and tell them why you wouldn't talk

The reason being you quite literally couldn't

Eventually you all started to get closer with each other, but it was still hard to communicate

Most of the group were able to figure out you were nonverbal after not talking for so long, and also not making any moves to harm any of them

Halsin even encouraged everyone to start learning a bit of sign language to understand you

Slowly but surely, everyone started to be able to figure out what you were trying to communicate

Although you and Astarion started to have some troubles

Astarion is impatient, and learning sign to help you wasn't exactly easy for him

You butted heads often, and he didn't really try to understand what you were trying to tell him

Eventually, everything got too stressful for you one night

When you stopped at a small village to get supplies, you had many issues with the villagers

You had a store manager be awfully rude to you when you couldn't speak to him, even though you had enough to pay for your supplies

While walking through the streets for some last minute things with Astarion, your group had decided to split up for convenience, a group of teenage aged girls walked by you

They whispered and giggled to themselves before hurling insults at you from across the street

You just kept your head down and kept walking, it's not like you could defend yourself anyways (in a nonviolent way, at least)

But something about this irked Astarion

He couldn't exactly explain it, but it just made him so angry, even though you two often butted heads

He started yelling at them from across the street, hurling some of the most vulgar insults you could've imagined

He did his usual over the top Astarion thing, and by the time he was done the girls had been long gone, running away from the both of you

He angrily grabbed your wrist and tugged you away, muttering under his breath about their audacity and "where could their parents be?"

After that the two of you subtly became closer, although neither of you mentioned the incident

Truly, seeing how you were yelled at on the street opened his eyes to how you were treated and how the way he was treating you probably made you feel

He's now always the first to defend you

He's always attentive about what you're trying to communicate and what you might need

He's become a lot nicer to you, to the point that Shadowheart and Karlach started teasing him

Even though the teasing makes him mad, he still feels that need to defend you when you need it

He wasn't perfect at the start, but as time goes on he gets better and better