hungryforpowernotfood
Hungry For Power, Not Food
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Making a Deal (Part 2)
Summary: Your date, gentlemen and distinguished folks
Warning(s): House being rude to waiting restaurant staff, being misgendered/mistaken as a woman (being called ma'am), self doubt, and anxiety
Pairing(s): Greg House x ftm reader
You stood on the sidewalk waiting for House to drive up. He had insisted on picking you up and treating it like an actual date. He was even on time when you recognized his car approaching you.
You gave him a small wave and watched as he pulled up along the sidewalk, and stopped the car a few feet ahead of where you were.
You frowned as you started walking towards the car. He got out and started limping around to the other side.
“What’d you do that for?”
“Because if I pulled up beside you, you would get in the car myself. And if memory serves, that’s not exactly how dates go.” He responds, opening up the passenger door for you.
“Right, but isn’t that for women?”
“Ever heard of equality, l/n? Get in the car.”
You huffed, and got in—him practically slamming the door shut after you. He slammed his door shut as well after he got in, and you wondered if he knew he didn’t need to slam it for it to properly close, but decided against bringing it up.
Aside from the radio playing, the majority of the car ride was silent between the two of you—House made a few comments about the restaurant he was taking you to, and made a joke about how he didn’t know what food you liked. He occasionally made comments about what was playing, but he never changed the station.
“Don’t get out yet.” He ordered after he had parked the car. He got out himself, then limped to your side, and opened your door for you.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” House made a point of saying the words, but he loosely linked his arm to yours as you made your way toward the restaurant. He gave the greeter his name for the reservation, and the two of you were led to your table.
The restaurant was admittedly nicer than you thought it would be, however, the conversation was as forced as you predicted it would be, despite the few compliments he made.
It wasn’t very long before the waitress introduced herself, and offered to get your drinks. House ordered your drink for you—insisting you try something and trust him—and by the time the waitress got back with your drinks, she took your orders.
House decided to go first, and you were about to make a biting comment about how he could’ve just picked something for you when you realized something: you had never presented as male before in public. Not like this, at least. You hadn’t been able to get any interviews yet, and when you went to the store, you were always able to go to the self-checkout.
“And for you sir?” The waitress turned to you, and you barely registered that she was talking to you.
You cleared your throat, attempting to deepen your voice.
“I’ll take the—” You cut yourself off by the waitress’s expression.
“I–I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize—I meant ma’am.”
You tried not to flinch at the word. You glanced at House and saw he was glaring at the waitress.
“I know they don’t pay you much,” he growled, making her turn to face him, “and obviously you didn’t get much schooling, but you must be an idiot to refer to my boyfriend as ‘ma’am’.”
He made a point of mocking the word ‘ma’am’, like a child who just learned a new nonsense word, and thinks it’s the most ridiculous thing ever to roll off their tongue.
“I—right, I’m sorry, it’s my mistake—” She said, turning to address you now.
“That was established.” House scoffed.
“What can I get for you, sir?” The waitress asked a little quieter now, though you were sure it was only to avoid any more ridicule from House.
You gave her your order—her quickly jotting it down as you said it, repeating it to the both of you to make sure she got both orders right, and quickly walking back to the kitchen.
House rolled his eyes. “Honestly, if I can’t escape idiots at work, you’d think I’d at least be able to avoid them here.”
“It’s okay.”
“Not really.”
“No, I mean…I understand why she thought…I don’t look very masculine.”
House cocked his head to the side. “Sure, maybe you don’t have a beard to make it obvious you have a mix of testosterone and the proper hormones to give some people the hint that maybe you possibly are male, but that doesn’t mean she should be rude about it.”
“She wasn’t being rude.”
“Yes, she was. You’re clearly presenting as male, she had no issue in assuming that we were two men having dinner, and did not hesitate to call you ‘sir’. She only changed when she heard her voice. Which is rude. Especially considering there could’ve been a genetic reason or medical reason for you not having a lower voice.”
“I know that, but—”
“No buts. Let her learn her lesson.”
You gave him a look. “When did you teach her a lesson?” You teased slightly.
“That she shouldn’t have just assumed what you preferred to be called. If you didn’t want to be called ‘sir’, you would’ve corrected her the first time. Or I would have.” House paused, before slightly furrowing his brow. “Besides, no one wants to be called ‘ma’am.”
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Making A Deal (Part 1)
Summary: House doesn't take the news of you wanting to quit your job at the hospital well, and he definitely doesn't take it well when you decide not to tell him why you're leaving.
You don't think it's any of his business, he thinks it is—the argument leads to you making a deal.
Warning(s): use of y/n & l/n (your name & last name), closeted reader, reader presenting as female throughout the fic & being referred to as a woman, House being House & making some comments that may come off as transphobic
Pairing(s): Greg House x ftm! Reader
Something felt off when you were growing up—you don’t remember exactly when you became aware of it. Over time, the feeling grew and grew, but you ignored it, and pushed it away.
Instead of the feeling, you focused all your time and energy on other things—grades, homework, friends, and your future.
It grew and grew, almost as if it were inside you. You went to school, and sometimes it got increasingly difficult to get up and put on a fake smile, but it all felt worth it because you were going to help people. And sometimes you grimaced when professors referred to you as “miss l/n”, but it all felt worth it because eventually, they would have to refer to you as “doctor”. And it felt jarring and uncomfortable to wear the blouses, and the heels, and the skirts, but you knew that one day you would be wearing a white coat and scrubs, and you wouldn’t be required to dress like that every day.
You mistook the feeling for a lot of things—being misunderstood, lonely, ambitious, depressed. Perhaps those came with the feeling, but you thought at one point it would stop. You thought that at one point: it’s got to stop.
And even when you realized what it truly was—your discomfort with living and presenting as female—you were damn good at hiding it, and you were a damn good doctor.
You were always able to spot what was wrong with a patient, but more importantly, you could tell when they were lying, or not telling you everything about a situation. You knew how to approach patients to make them more comfortable about sharing information with you—or at least you did most of the time.
This is what allowed you to succeed when you started working with House—you went from being bossed around because he thought you couldn’t do anything, to being bossed around because he thought you could get the patient to open up to you more than him.
You knew you would miss it, but you also knew you had to make a better life for yourself—which is why you decided to quit.
Today marked the start of your last week—you had exactly 7 more days to go. That didn’t mean you didn’t have any paperwork, though, and that’s exactly what you were working on when you heard what sounded like someone was hitting your office door with a stick.
Without waiting for a reply, House walked in, explaining why it sounded like something was hitting the door. He was probably lucky it was wood.
“Why is Cuddy under the impression that you are leaving?”
“Probably because I am.” You said, looking back at your work.
“And you weren’t planning on telling me?”
“Why would I?”
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because we work together, so you should tell me things.”
You glanced up at him, your brow raised.
“Why are you leaving?”
“Did Cuddy not tell you?”
“She told me you had ‘other life opportunities’.”
“You say that like you don’t believe it.”
He snorted. “Yeah, that’s because it’s a lie and not a very good one either.”
You tilted your head. “You think it’s a lie?”
“Please, I know it’s a lie. You wouldn’t just quit for some impromptu opportunity, something is wrong.”
“Nothing is wrong.”
“So you’re leaving me to deal with Foreman, Chase, and Wilson alone over nothing?”
“Sure.” You said, looking back at your laptop.
House walked over to you and slammed your computer shut.
“What are you doing?” You shouted.
He picked up the laptop and hobbled to the other side of the room where he set it down.
“Give it back.” You ordered, getting up, and walking after him. He turned around quickly and blocked you with his cane.
“You’re not quitting.” He said.
“Why do you care?”
“Who said I care? I’m just trying to keep one good doctor in the ring.”
“Well, clearly you talked to Cuddy, so you know the notice is already in, and this is my last week.”
“Redact it.”
“Why should I?”
“Because I’m going to find out anyway.”
Your heart pounded at the idea of him ever finding out, but you simply shook your head.
“You think I won’t?”
You thought about it, before answering “Not any time soon.”
“That sounded like a challenge.”
“It wasn’t.” You stated.
“Let’s make a deal.”
You raised your brow. “A deal.”
“Yes, a deal. If I find out why you’re leaving before the end of the week, you have to stay. If I don’t, then you can leave.”
You thought about it for a moment. “If you can’t figure it out, you don’t get to bother me about it again.”
He paused for a moment. “If I can, you have to do what I say for a day.”
You held back a scoff—it felt like you did that anyway—if he did figure it out, it wouldn’t be any different from the previous times. “Deal.” You said, holding out your hand for him to shake.
He briefly took your hand, and said “deal,” before leaving the room.
As the week went on, House had several theories written on the whiteboard and didn't take any cases—meaning you ended up doing them for him and took Wilson, Foreman, and Chase with you. Sometimes one of them would go in, and report that he was snappy (as usual) and that he insisted you were hiding something.
By your last day, House hadn’t come to you with any accusations, so you weren’t surprised when you heard a similar thwack against wood before your door was opened.
“I figured it out,” House said gruffly, closing the door behind him.
“Did you?”
“You’re trans.”
Your heart raced. “What?”
“Your chest is flat. I thought I was just seeing things, but then I saw a picture of you from last year. Your chest is flat now, you didn’t think anyone would care or notice, because you put in your two weeks' notice, and you thought ‘What the hell, I’m leaving in a few days, no point in wearing a stuffed bra to work every day’.
“Your closet contains mostly feminine clothing—overly feminine, in fact—I’m guessing because your parents never let you wear girly clothes as a child. I noticed your bathroom doesn’t have any hygienic products because you don’t need them, and you don’t use the washrooms here because you’re afraid of someone figuring out you were born a man.”
You looked at him, shocked. You could feel his air of pride, but you could also feel your heartbeat starting to slow.
He thinks you’re a transwoman…not a transman…
“No.”
“What?”
You shook your head. “Nope.”
“I’m not wrong, drop the gig, l/n.”
“I didn’t have menstrual products because I ran out and hadn’t got any left. We barely get breaks long enough to use the washroom. You’ve never seen me in anything except for my work clothes and a dress a few times, so how do you know how I usually dress? As for my chest…”
He looked at you expectantly, despite you shooting daggers.
“No one asked you to look.”
“I’m just being observant.”
You rolled your eyes. You had only recently started binding—and while it felt so much better, you assumed no one noticed. He started reaching for your chest, but you swatted his hand away.
“You only did that because you knew it would prove my point.” He growled.
“You’re wrong, House. I was born female.”
“Well it isn’t a chronic or terminal illness, not mental illness, your family doesn’t require your immediate attention, you have no friends or boyfriends trying to get you to move away with them, you don’t have any stalkers, and no one here has been harassing you.”
“You’re harassing me right now.”
“But you’re not leaving because of me.”
“Right.”
He narrowed his eyes. “What are you hiding?”
You looked up at the clock, it was nearing the end of your shift, anyway, and you were already done with everything.
“You’re not completely wrong.”
“What does that mean? Either I’m wrong or I’m right, and I’ll give you a hint—I am rarely wrong.”
You picked up the box. “Fine. You’re right, I was born a woman, and I hate it.” You said, quickly walking out.
Whatever comment he had for you, you didn’t want to hear it—people like him were exactly why you were leaving. Nevertheless, you heard his footsteps, and cane tapping after you. From the sound of it, you could tell he was struggling to keep up with you in a way that did not elicit pain.
Previously heading towards the elevator, you changed your route towards the stairs, and quickly made your way down. You practically flew down the last flight of stairs, causing you to nearly run into House who was standing in the doorway right at the bottom.
You sighed. “What do you want?”
“You didn’t honestly think it would be that easy, did you?” He asked, limping towards you. You backed up—back onto the stairs. House leaned up against one of the rails with a grunt, taking pressure off his leg.
You rolled your eyes and started walking back out, but he held out his cane to keep you from leaving.
“Why don’t you just let me go?”
“Because that doesn’t sound like a very good reason to leave.”
“What doesn’t?”
“Being transgender. Besides, I was right—so you aren’t allowed to leave.”
“You weren’t right, you thought I was a transwoman.”
He made a face. “I’m sorry, what’s the difference again.” You could tell he wasn’t being genuine, or probably wasn’t, but you answered anyway.
“Hmm. But I did say you were trans, right.”
“Right, but—”
“And you are, yes? Or did I misunderstand?”
“I am, but—”
“Then I was right. Now you have to go back upstairs, put your dinky decorations back on your desk, and be here early tomorrow morning with my coffee.” He said, directing his cane so that you would be forced to back up even more.
Thinking fast, you decided to come up with another compromise.
“No.”
“No? Did we not make a deal?”
“We did, but you were only partially right, therefore you were partially wrong, so we should split the deal.”
“Split the deal?” He scoffed like it was the most absurd thing he’d ever heard.
“Yes, split the deal. I'm leaving, but I’ll do whatever you say for a night.”
“Any night?”
“Saturday.”
He feigned surprise, “are you asking me on a date?”
“I—” you paused when you realized what he had done.
“I am flattered. I don’t usually date men, but if you insist, I will—it’s not like I’m doing anything better on Saturday night anyway. I’ll pick you up at 8.” He said, walking away.
#house md#x ftm reader#x reader#x male reader#greg house x reader#dr house x reader#transmasc#greg house#dr house
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if you’re struggling lately, i hope this reaches you.
we will be okay. you will be okay. you will grow and evolve and heal. you will enjoy life again even if it’s not the same as it was the last time you were happy. you will live your life not feeling stuck. you will do more than survive. you will thrive.
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There Was a Book For That This Entire Time?!
Summary: The reader gets their period & asks Stephen for help, which comes with a little more than expected (sfw)
Warning(s): menstrual/period blood (I have no idea what the quality of this is, I haven't revisited it in so long)
Pairing(s): ftm!stephen strange/ftm!reader (reader can be read as ftnb, but presents & passes as male here)
You woke up earlier than usual with a damp, sticky sensation pressed against you between your legs. You felt yourself tense up at your quick realization of what it was.
You sat in bed for a moment, telling yourself to get up before you were finally able to. The bathroom was connected to your bedroom—as per request—so you didn’t need to risk being seen by anyone. Stephen had been trying to convince you to move into the Sanctum for a while, especially because you practically lived there. He had eventually been able to win you over by offering you a bedroom with your own private bathroom—it was the only luxury he could think of to offer you, the only unique feature any of the rooms had, so you took it.
He always assumed you liked your privacy—you didn’t always study with other people, and you didn’t like meditating around other people at first. He understood the inclination towards independence, so he never questioned you.
You avoided looking in the mirror—you didn’t want to ask to have it taken out because you didn’t want to explain, and you were still learning magic. As soon as you learned a spell for it though, you would have it removed.
You changed in the bathroom after cleaning yourself up, then you did your best to wash the blood out of your clothes. You ran cold water over them, trying to wring out the blood, before eventually just putting them in to soak.
Once you finished, you left, in search of Stephen, or anyone else you could find who could help you get blood out of fabric…and potentially the mattress you may have left a stain on, though you didn’t check.
By now, the stain on your sheet was dry so you would most likely have to resort to magic.
You found Stephen in the library fairly quickly—you were sure he didn’t sleep every night, instead spending some in the library.
“Stephen?” You asked, leaning against one of the shelves.
He only hummed in response, not looking up from his book.
“Are there any spells that can clean blood?”
He looked up and gave you a suspicious look. “Why?”
“I had a nosebleed,” you lied, “I just wanted to clean it up.”
“I can clean it.” He stated, closing the book with one hand. He got up and started walking towards you, you blocked him before he could create a portal, or do anything else.
“Don’t you think I should learn? I get them often, and I’d like to know how to clean them up myself.”
“They can be tricky, but I can show you.” He moved you aside gently with an arm and drew it into a circle—forming a portal and stepping through it before you could object.
“Stephen, it's fine, I don’t need to learn it now.” You objected, but it was too late. He had paused in front of your bed, and you knew he had seen it.
Your heart pounded in your chest and in your ears.
He turned back to face you and gestured for you to step through the portal. Once you did so, he turned back to the bed and cast a spell that cleaned the blood off the bed—letting the portal fall behind you. When he was done, he conjured another portal—a smaller one this time—stuck his hand in, and pulled a book out.
He turned and handed you the book. There were a few sticky notes sticking out of the pages, and the cover looked worn and tattered.
You slowly took the book into your hands, as if you were holding an injured animal—you held all the older books that way.
“The spells for getting menstrual blood and other blood out are different because of the consistency,” He explained, “some of the spells can be a bit tricky. But if you want any help, you know where to find me.”
Stephen winked, and turned, preparing to cast another spell for a portal, when you grabbed his arm, preventing the motion.
“Wait…you’re—”
Stephen nodded. “The Ancient One gave me this book when I first came here. But I know all the spells I need from it, so now you can have it.”
You looked up at him for a moment. “Are you sure?”
“Of course. I’ve memorized everything I need from it.”
You nod.
“Oh, and y/n.”
“Hmm?"
He turns to fully face you. “I understand why you didn’t tell me this…but you can come to me with anything, okay?”
“Okay.”
He smiles at you, before drawing an arm in a circle, a portal being created with it, and exiting your room, leaving you alone with the book.
#stephen strange x reader#stephen strange#x male reader#x reader#x ftm reader#afab reader#menstruation#fluff#trans ftm#transmasc#ftm stephen strange#trans stephen strange
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A Change in Routine
Summary: Stephen's not very happy about getting sick, as he's suddenly reliant on the reader doing basic things for him. Being a doctor, however, makes him a pretty bad patient.
Warnings: being yelled at/degraded, light angst, Stephen pushing reader away, vague depiction of a physical disability, mentions of y/n
Pairing(s): Stephen Strange x gender neutral reader
Your boyfriend may have his irresponsible, impulsive streaks, but a sense of routine was always maintained within the Sanctums—sure, mostly due to you and Wong and the other Sorcerers maintaining the order Stephen loved to test, but it was still present. So you were surprised when you woke up to the warmth of your boyfriend still in bed next to you—when by this time in the morning, he was already awake and usually waking you up (something no one else has ever dared to do).
You turn over slightly to face him—sometimes he would fake being asleep just to stay in bed with you a little while longer, but this time he looked like he was fast asleep. You reached up to move a loose strand of hair from his face, finding that his forehead was noticeably warm.
Carefully, you got up, hoping that if you were quiet enough, you could get things for him first thing without him arguing with you about it. You weren’t a doctor like he was, but you did learn how to take care of sick people, including yourself, from your family while growing up, so you knew the basics.
Knowing he’d wake up soon—somehow noticing your absence even in his sleep—you went into the kitchen to start the kettle to make tea, and went to the bathroom to get a damp washcloth.
Once you returned to the bedroom with the washcloth and the cup of tea, Stephen was sitting up in bed—the tip of his nose now slightly red, and you could tell from the look in his eyes that today was going to be long.
“Good morning.” You said, placing the tea down on the nightstand. You pressed the washcloth against his forehead, only for him to swat your hands away, instead pressing the washcloth to his forehead with his shaky hands.
You hadn’t used magic that morning out of fear of waking him up, and you knew he would be too tired to. Sickness often took a toll on the body, making it difficult to perform spells. You also didn’t yet know how to materialize food and drinks for nothing, so you were reliant on portals.
He looked over at the tea, then gave a frustrated sigh.
“Where’s the medicine?” He growled, his voice dropping to a deep, yet nasally pitch.
“What?”
“I’m obviously sick, y/n, I’m not going to get better overnight.” He snapped.
You nodded, knowing better than to fight back against him like his. You made a portal to the medicine cabinet, where you found the liquid medicine and grabbed it.
“Not that one.” He growled.
“You looked back. “Which one?”
“If you don’t know, maybe you shouldn’t be doing this.”
You sighed. “Stephen, just tell me which one.”
He moved the blankets aside and started towards you.
“No!” he snapped. “You’re just going to mess it up.” He moved you aside and reached for a bottle of pills. He struggled to open it and was clearly growing more irritated by the movement as he grappled it with unsteady hands. He shot you a look when you reached to help him with the bottle.
“Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to make me breakfast?” He growled.
You bit your cheek, and simply made a portal to the kitchen to see what food you had, leaving him alone in the room.
You looked around, you didn’t know what he ate for breakfast, let alone what he’d want to eat while sick. Wong came in a few moments after you did, and gave you a confused look.
“Is Stephen still sleeping?”
You sighed. “No, he’s just sick…Do you happen to know what he eats for breakfast?”
“Unfortunately I do,” Wong said. He grabbed an empty plate, and after swishing his hand around its perimeter, made food appear. “This should do.” He said, handing you the plate.
“Thank you.”“Good luck,” Wong said, just before you made a portal back to your room so that Stephen wouldn’t hear his comment.
You gave him a side smile, before stepping through. It seemed as though Stephen had just opened the bottle–he shook it to get a pill into his palm before he managed to twist the lid back on. He made his way over to the side of the bed and sat down while he drank his tea. He grimaced as he swallowed.
“How much honey did you put in this?”
“Only a little.”
You could see the flash of irritation in his eyes as he looked at you, but simply crawled back under the covers rather than scathing you with more harsh words.
You set the plate on his lap and created a portal to the cabinet for the honey. You picked it up and poured it over his cup—Stephen watching you pointedly as you stopped only to stir it in. He gave you a nod once you had added enough, and you returned everything to its place.
As the day went on, Stephen’s hands seemed to be getting worse—while they weren’t as bad as they initially had been—he still had a difficult time controlling them, and it was uncomfortable for him to hold things. He snapped at you for little things that you weren’t doing right—not cleaning things up fast enough, not giving him the proper food, not checking that the cloth was damp frequently enough, etc.
At lunch, you made him soup and brought it up to him. You made sure to get one of the lighter spoons, as the heavier ones were more difficult to hold, and made sure the food wasn’t too hot.
“What is this?” He growled when you set it in his lap.
“Soup.” You replied, now very tired with his attitude.
He scoffed. “I don’t like this kind.”
“Get Wong.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Get Wong. I’m taking a break.”
“‘A break’?” Stephen scoffed, “I never asked for your help in the first place and now you’re taking a break? You’re the one who decided to show up and do all these things I’m perfectly capable of doing myself, y/n. The least you can do is do what I say and do it right. But you couldn’t even do that! You weren’t even listening to me half the time!”
You bit your cheek—any retorts you had wouldn’t do you any good. You shook your head, and turned, creating a portal to the library, and stepped through.
Wong came in around an hour later, looking for you.
“Stephen needs you.”
“No, he doesn’t. You can handle this one.”
“I tried, but he only wants to see you.”
You looked at him for a minute before sighing. It couldn't hurt to at least check. “Alright.”
Sometimes you hated that it was difficult for you to say no to that man.
You mentally prepared yourself to be yelled at before creating a portal to your shared room.
“What is it?” You asked, your voice taking a slightly sharper edge than you intended. You stopped in your tracks, letting the portal fall behind you when you saw Stephen sitting there with red-rimmed eyes, and soup spilled across his lap and the covers.
"Oh." You muttered. You walked over to him quickly as you cast a spell that cleaned the soup up.
“I’m sorry.” He looked up at you, but you ignored it—deciding to focus on cleaning.
“It’s alright. We probably should’ve cleaned the blanket anyway.” You chuckled. You turned to walk away, but he reached for your hand quickly.
“No! I mean…I’m sorry…I—I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I was just—I—” A few tears trickled down his face. You stared at him, shocked. He rarely apologized like this to you—you knew you probably should’ve said something, but you couldn’t find the words.
“You weren’t doing anything wrong I just…it hurts.” He said the last part was slightly quieter. That you knew how to deal with.
You leaned in, and kissed his forehead—he still felt hot to the touch—even the hand wrapped around your wrist seemed abnormally warm.
“I know.” You whispered.
“I’m sorry.”
“That’s alright, you can stop apologizing.”
“Are—are you mad at me.”
You sighed, and shook your head ‘no’—you don’t know why it was hard for you to be mad at this man. Then again, he wasn’t feeling like himself when he said all those things.
“I’m going to get you some more soup, and an ice pack, okay?”
Wanting you to stay with him, Stephen looked reluctant, but he nodded, and you created a portal to the kitchen.
For once today, you weren’t met with a glare or a scowl when you reentered the bedroom. You set the bowl of soup on the bedside table, then outstretched your free hand towards him. Understanding the gesture, Stephen placed his hands in yours.
You gently applied the ice pack and saw him close his eyes in relief at the coldness. The extreme temperature seemed to be one of the few things his damaged nerves could register properly—thus making it ease the discomfort. He whimpered slightly when you drew your hand away and placed the ice pack in his lap instead—but because you were crawling in beside him, he had very few complaints.
He ate his soup quickly, though he needed to take breaks from holding the spoon to be able to use it properly without spilling—you offered to help, but he declined, instead using the ice pack to mitigate the tenderness.
You put on a movie, though you barely got through the first 30 minutes of it before he fell asleep wrapped in your arms, with his head against your chest.
#stephen strange x reader#stephen strange#x gn reader#x reader#x gender neutral reader#x male reader#marvel#marvel cinematic universe#marvel mcu#sickfic#ao3 fanfic#ao3 writer
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DOCTOR STRANGE SUPREME IN MARVEL´S WHAT IF…? | Voice by Benedict Cumberbatch.
@usergif 1 year celebration:shuffle challenge → Glitch Transition | Two-color Focused | Favorite Film/Show*
@mcuchallenge Tournament - Round 3: What If…? vs. TFATWS.
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Thunderstorms
Summary: Stephen gets a panic attack during a thunderstorm.
Warnings: panic attack, PTSD, mentions of a past car crash
Pairing: Stephen Strange x gender neutral reader
Stephen enjoys the rain—the way it patters against the windows, and every surface outside, he finds it rhythmic and soothing. He also likes the way you watch it falling with curious eyes, as though you’ve never seen rain before in your life. Not to mention the smell it leaves afterward—that goes without saying. But ever since the accident, he’s hated thunderstorms.
At best, thunderstorms caused him were minor flashbacks—he would be paralyzed for a few minutes, before coming back to reality, slowly blinking in his surroundings. But the worst—and unfortunately most common—thing they caused were panic attacks.
He was good at keeping both of these a secret, and he hated the idea of anyone ever possibly finding out. In turn, he was careful about planning around the storm—often leaving chunks in his schedule of space if one was approaching. Even if one came by surprise, he knew how to make a quick escape within the first couple of rumbles—sometimes he was able to create a portal to somewhere with more tame weather, but the onset of one usually gripped his emotions too much for him to perform the spell.
Before he met you, he didn’t want anyone around while they happened—all he wanted was a dark place where no one else would be. Not that he had told you—despite the two of you dating for a while, and him trusting you more than anyone else in the world—he didn’t know how, or if he even could tell you he got panic attacks. He hadn’t even told you about his aversion to thunder, but the idea of you being there was nice.
Unfortunately, tonight was one of those nights where a thunderstorm came on unexpectedly without any kind of forecasting.
You had only started drifting to sleep when it started, but it woke him up quickly, making him jolt up. You could make out his figure in the darkness—sitting with the blankets cast across his lap, and his heaving deeply like he’d just had a nightmare.
“Stephen? What’s wrong?”
He shook his head, forcing his breathing to calm down. “Nothing…it’s nothing. Go back to sleep.”
“I wasn’t asleep,” you mumbled, before speaking up, “are you sure you're okay?”
He nodded, burying his hands beneath the blankets pooled in his lap so that you wouldn’t see them shaking—not wanting to worry you while he fought off the inevitable.
You kept looking up at him. Eventually, he met your eyes, and you saw him calm down slightly.
“I’m fine, really. I just need to catch my breath.” He insisted.
You hesitated, before nodding, and relaxing back into the bed, once again trying to lull yourself to sleep.
You listened to his breathing slowly, and he eventually laid back down, his back turned towards you. You closed the small gap between you and Stephen, pressing yourself up against his back, and wrapping your arms around his chest.
You could feel him relax against your touch, though his body tensed again with the next roll of thunder, and you could tell his breath quickened again. At this point, you only assumed he was afraid of thunder, and rubbed your hand up and down his chest to help alleviate it. But when he started shaking at the next sound of thunder, you caught on to what was going on.
“It’s okay.” You whispered, tightening your hold slightly—only to apply more pressure, but you made sure that if he pushed your arms away, he’d be able to get out.
But he didn’t push you away—he let out a shaky breath, and rolled over, wrapping his arms around you, burying his head into your chest.
His hands were shaky against your back, and you could feel his tears streaking against your chest. You ran your hand up and down his back in an attempt to soothe him.
He jolted against you at the next roll of thunder, his fingers digging into your back—it slightly stung, but you made sure to not react to this.
“You’re okay,” you whispered, “you’re safe, I’m not going anywhere.”
His quick, panicked breaths didn’t cease, but you started a breathing exercise, hoping that he would eventually catch on and follow it. You continued rubbing his back slightly, knowing Stephen usually preferred silence when he was upset.
After a while, he was able to focus more on your movements, and eventually caught on to the breathing pattern, beginning to mimic it. His body slowly began to relax against yours, though his tight grip never loosened.
And sometime after even that, Stephen came even more to his senses and unlatched his nails from your skin, mumbling an apology, the response to which was you simply kissing his forehead.
“Would you like tea?” You asked, after another moment of silence.
Stephen paused, and nodded, loosening his grip to let you get up.
You went to the kitchen to make his tea, while he went into the bathroom to clean up, splashing his face with water, and drying off with a towel.
When you returned to the bedroom, he was sitting in bed reading. You could tell he was trying to show that he was fine now, but there was still a red rim around his eyes, and his hands had a slight tremble.
He glanced up at you when you entered the room and put his book down. He unsteadily took the tea, murmuring a genuine “thank you”, before bringing the cup up to his lips.
You nodded and crawled into bed next to him. Despite him sitting up, you decided to lie down, wrapping your arms around his hips.
“You don’t have to talk about it, but I’m here if you want to.” You said—you knew he didn’t always want to talk about his problems. Once something was so impending that it was cutting into his sleeping or eating habits or just general well-being, then you would become more stubborn about it, but you simply didn’t have the kind of relationship where you forced each other to talk about what was bothering the other. Both of you always preferred the other to talk on their own time.
There was a moment of silence, before Stephen simply placed his hand on your head, lightly massaging your scalp.
“Thank you.” He said softly, clearly still slightly broken up from crying.
He finished his cup, as the storm still raged outside, but with you lying in his lap he felt slightly better about it. He placed it down on the nightstand, before sinking under the blankets next to you, once again burying his face into your chest.
“I love you.” You whispered, wrapping your arms back around him, mirroring your previous embrace.
“I love you more.” He replied, his voice muffled against you, though you could feel his chest vibrating against you from the deepness of his voice, caused by the sleepiness washing over him.
“Impossible.” You teased. He shook his head in response, though you could feel him smiling.
Your eyelids felt heavy—it seemed as though there was a weight distributed across your entire body—but you still lay awake until he fell asleep, wanting to keep him company. It didn’t take long for him to fall asleep against your warmth—he was able to find a piece of comfort despite the sounds of thunder echoing in his ears. In turn, it didn’t take long for you to fall asleep after he did, holding him tightly against your chest until the morning when he would wake up and attend to all he needed to.
#Stephen strange x reader#doctor strange#stephen strange#x reader#x gn reader#x gender neutral reader#x male reader#ptsd#panic attack
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a writing challenge? in 2024? you bet
Hi! Hello! Hey!
I've been going through A Time and have chosen to cope by going back to the specific vibes of 2016 to 2018. That happens to include an incredible resurgence in my love for MCU fanfic, the community around it and all the love that goes into them. I've felt a bit distant from here for a while, but I still see so many of my old friends writing, ones who want to get back into it, and a whole lot of new writers I am dying to meet.
I've floated this idea vaguely on my blog and people seem to be interested so I figured it was worth a shot!
So yeah, welcome to Ari's Old School, Nostalgia Jam, Why-The-Hell-Not MCU Fic Writing Challenge 2024!
Prompts, rules and whatnot under the cut:
Requests:
If you could reblog this post to reach someone who might want to participate, I'd really appreciate it! No need to be following me, it's open for anyone.
Reader-inserts, OCs, solo character fics, character x character-- absolutely no limitations
Any and all MCU characters are allowed
Anything above 500 words should have a read-more/keep-reading tab. Series, multi-chapters, one-shots, drabbles, etc etc. The sky's the limit.
Please tag me in your fics (@shurisneakers) so I'm notified of them, and post them with the tag #arisoldschoolwritingchallenge . It may take me a while to get back to you due to the circumstances I find myself in currently, but I absolutely will. Please send me a DM if I haven't responded within 10 days.
Send me an ask with the prompt you would like. Feel free to pick up to 2 prompts
The only thing I request of you: no RPF and no dark fics. Smut is welcome, but non-con/dub-con/incest or anything along those veins is something I'd ask you not to submit for this challenge. Thank you for your understanding!
I know I've called it an MCU fic challenge as it's the community I've grown with, but if you feel like any of these prompts resonates with a character from another fandom, please go ahead and write it. This challenge really is just about the fun of writing fanfic and love for Your Little Guys
No submission cut-off date. Take all the time you need.
Prompts
I've tried to have a mix of classics and uncommon tropes/dynamics, so I hope everyone finds something they connect with!
Relationship Prompts
1. Enemies
2. Friends/childhood friends
3. Coworkers
4. Internet friends
5. Neighbours/roommates
6. Fake dating
7. Commuters
Alternate Universe Prompts
1. Florist AU
2. Showmance AU
3. Social media/streaming/gaming AU
4. Thieves/Heist Group AU
5. Time travel AU
6. Pirates AU
7. College AU (taken by @lovelybarnes)
8. Apocalypses/dystopia AU (taken by @targaryenvampireslayer)
9. Chef AU
10. Roadtrips AU
Some rarer miscellaneous ones for those who are so inclined!
1. Shipwrecked together on an island
2. Meet Ugly (opposite of Meet Cutes) (taken by @barnesandco
3. Both of you are ghosts but don't know the other is
4. Treasure hunters AU
5. Faking death
6. Professional cuddlers AU
7. Time loops/Groundhog Day (taken by @sxrensxngwrites)
8. Orpheus and Eurydice
9. Villain x hero
10. Hitchhiking
11. Carnival of Horrors
12. Robin Hood
13. Matchmakers AU
14. Insomniac x narcoleptic
15. Intergalactic Coffee Shop AU
16. Doomed By The Narrative
17. Enemies to Lovers to Enemies
18. Subversion of Classic Hallmark Movie Tropes
Dialogue prompts
You can tweak them as per requirements, but be sure to keep the underlying message!
Angst
1. "I should have trusted myself. I should have stayed far away from you."
2. "Has it occurred to you that how I feel matters too?"
3. "We failed. I would do it again."
4. "You do not deserve my forgiveness."
5. "You make me feel so alone."
6. "I'm not giving up on us." "I did. You should too." (taken by @targaryenvampireslayer)
Crack
1. "Ohhh, you wanna kiss me so bad it makes you look stupid."
2. "I think you and I make the worst choices together." "Yeah, but it's always entertaining."
3. "I trusted you." "Terrible decision, really."
4. "I know I'm smiling but I want to push you off a very big cliff." (taken by @pepperonijem)
5. "I'm hilarious." "You're traumatised."
Fluff
1. "This is the only thing I look forward to everyday."
2. "I think we should do that again. For the sake of the world and my sanity."
3. "You're all I think about."
4. "Don't go anywhere I can't follow."
5. "Don't smile at me like that." "Like what?" "Like that." (Taken by @lovelybarnes)
Word Prompts:
Flesh
Strawberry
Bruised
Groovy
Jump
Sunflower (taken by @barnesandco)
Alchemist
Wayward
Offerings
Mischief
I hope you'll join in! Please do tag anyone you think would be interested, I'd love for this to have as wide an audience as possible.
Lots of love <3
-Ari
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