#selectively mute!reader

[ohclaire]

You’d always been considered odd, what with the way you sometimes go days without speaking for no apparent reason? Most people don’t get that. They don’t get the way it feels like your lips are glued together and if you’re forced to part them your throat will rip. But your team gets it.

Maybe not get it, they don’t need to get it, they just adapt to it. Which is practically their whole job: adaptation. So it wasn’t hard the first morning you came from your room and didn’t speak.

They caught on fast, only asking yes or no questions that you could answer with a shake or nod of your head. It was even more convenient that you regularly used hand signals on the job.

You tried to play it cool but secretly you were entirely shocked (and on the verge of crying) that they didn’t press the issue. They didn’t ask why you weren’t talking or pressure you to do so…they just adapted. When you spoke again—merely a meek hello at breakfast a couple days later—Kyle just smiled and brushed your cheek with his knuckle like he was glad to hear you again. He didn’t groan finally or start interrogating you, just content to let you be.

By now they’re used to it. So when, once again, you offer no greeting before finding a home on the stool for the island, just waving gently at Johnny cooking eggs on the stove, he doesn’t bat an eye.

“Mornin’, hen! Sleep well?” He asks while sliding your favorite morning drink to you.

You smile and nod, taking a sip as he turns back to the eggs.

When John joins, giving a gruff ‘mornin’—morning voice not quite cleared yet—as he bee-lines to the coffee machine. He passes you and puts a heavy hand on your head, ruffling your hair a little, not expecting a response. Then he wraps around to where Johnny is working diligently at the stove, standing behind him with one hand on his waist while he sips his new mug. “Lookin’ good, sergeant.”

“Me or the eggs?” Johnny jokes back.

“Definitely you, Johnny.” Kyle comes out of the woodwork to join you all.

“Damn right!”

You smile into your cup. The way their voices fill the silence is comfortable, kind. Reminds you of home. No need for you to chime in.

Kyle makes his pit stop at your seat, planting a kiss on the top of your head before opening the fridge for his daily ginger shot like the health loser he was.

“Cannae believe you drink that shite, Kyle.” Johnny shakes his head while pushing the eggs with a spatula.

Kyle downs it fast in defiance and gives an exaggerated ‘ahh!’ once it’s gone. Then he points at Johnny and says “this is why my course time is better than yours.”

“Boys…” Price warns, not wanting a repeat of the argument that broke out last week.

Both sets of hands shoot in the air in surrender as they part to complete their next tasks.

Simon slinks in, claiming the spot next to you and lightly shoving his shoulder into yours. It reminds you of how a cat nudges your legs in greeting. It seems like today is a quiet day for him too.

That was the other thing that made it easier—you weren’t the only one who didn’t speak sometimes.

John fills another mug and slides it to Simon.

You sit in the conversation and the smell of the breakfast cooking, and share a soft look with Simon, the sun giving everything a gentle glow. You’re glad you have people that understand.

[moonlitdesertdreams]

Of Baths and Contemplation

Pairing: Stephen Strange x Reader

Summary: Stephen joins you for a bath, you get annoyed and end up contemplating your relationship. It's all good, you're sure.

Tags: Stephen Strange x Reader, Stephen Strange, Doctor Strange x Reader, Sorcerer Supreme, selectively mute!reader, Alternate Universe, marvel, x reader, marvel imagines, Stephen Strange in a bathtub

WARNINGS: nothing, really. FLUFFFFFFFF

Word Count: 854

“Quiet.”

You dropped your head back onto Stephen’s shoulder, back pressed tightly into his chest. One scarred hand skimmed gently up and down your side, almost tickling the sensitive skin just beneath the water.

“...You know, I really don’t see the charm in this.”

Water sloshed out of the tub as you turned to face Stephen. Your eyes were narrowed in annoyance, though the Sorcerer Supreme didn’t take his eyes off the spellbook levitating above the water. You used his bare thigh as leverage to turn the rest of the way around, soft touch managing to draw his gaze away from the spellbook.

It had been a cold December day in New York, and a sudden power outage early in the afternoon had quickly left the Sanctum far colder than you enjoyed. You had unfortunately opted out of an Avengers meeting with Stephen, leaving yourself in the ancient building when the lights flickered out. Your magic, though burning within somewhere, was still not strong enough to conjure a flame or create any substantial heat. So when the electricity came back to life, a hot bath and warm food were the first things to come to mind. Stephen joining in said bath was not at the forefront of your thoughts, but you offered up little resistance when he sauntered into the bathroom.

That was, until he got bored and began muttering his readings aloud.

Despite the relief hot water brought to his crippled hands, Stephen was less inclined to sit and enjoy it and the sweet-smelling soaps that filled the room. He would rather be reading with you and his decidedly cat-like Cloak following him than sit still in a bathtub. On the other hand, you had lit a candle on the tiled edge of the tub, and soft music played from the adjoining bedroom. It had been the perfect relaxation technique for a slow night.

“You are impossible.” You accused.

Strange’s hands came to rest on your hips, rotating your body back to its previous position. You reclined into his chest, taking a deep breath in as the water began to heat up again. Having the Sorcerer Supreme in the bathtub with you could be helpful, as it turned out.

“Happy?”

You hummed affirmation, tucking your face into Stephen’s neck. You took solace in the quiet, appreciating the way hot water seemed to seep into the bones and loosen tense muscles.

“You know I meant the bath, right?”

You furrowed your brow, tilting your chin up to look at Strange.

“About not seeing the charm. I was talking about the bath.” He pressed a hot kiss to the skin of your neck, “But, I most definitely see the charm here.”

You giggled, head lolling to one side to allow Stephen better access. His lips traveled from the joint of shoulder and neck to earlobe, where he lingered for a long moment.

“You are beautiful.”

Tremor-wracked fingers ran up and down your abdomen, tracing over scars and marred skin. Time in the cosmic loop had not been kind to you. In spite of your appearance, it provided yourself and Stephen with common ground on which you grew close. His scarred and debilitated hands were his weakest physical point, and the same thing went for your bodily scars. You bonded over the unnecessary shame and pain which scars brought to the human psyche. It was an odd and admittedly unhealthy thing to bond over, but the level of comfort you'd managed to bring each other was overwhelming.

Wong suggested your unique bond was formed mostly on their polar opposite mental states, and went far beyond just appearance. You were plagued with anxiety, constantly in fear of a full-blown panic attack from the smallest trigger. Almost completely mute in any social setting, the constant post-traumatic stress from imprisonment haunting your every move.

Silence, or the beast would find you.

On the other hand, Stephen was rather over-confident. Talked boldy almost too frequently, and never ran away from a fight. At least, not since his appointment to the position of Sorcerer Supreme. He sought your quiet comfort when his duties became close to overwhelming, and you took reassurance from him when memories became too much to bear. On paper the pair of you were a disaster, but luckily it wasn’t paper that their connection was solidified on.

“You’re thinking way too hard about what’s going on right now.” Stephen murmured, lips brushing the shell of your ear and pressing gently into your hair.

You shook your head. “Thinking about you… And me.”

Long arms wound around your body, and you shifted in the massive clawfoot tub so you were pressed into his side. The water was getting inexplicably lower- apparently due to the amount of it evaporating from Stephen’s heating spell minutes earlier.

“I’m not sure that’s a good thing?” Stephen’s words were more of a statement than a question, but it lingered in the open for a moment.

“It’s good.” You pressed soft kisses against his collarbone and shoulder, drawing a deep noise from Stephen’s chest as your hand traveled down his stomach. “Always good.”

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