Various x Reader

Soup ||Stephen Strange||

Tw: depictions of dysphoria

The previous night was a rough night. You could still feel it weighing on you in the morning.

You didn't know what happened—it just hit you, and suddenly everything had felt much less than okay.

You tried going to bed, but ended up staying awake most of the night—usually drifting in and out of unpleasant dreams.

You were already awake at 5:30 when your alarm went off, but the sound made you unbearably nauseous anyway. you groaned, and rubbed your eyes after you turned it off. You had been waking up early to train with Stephen—you were learning the mystic arts fairly quickly—but you were fairly certain you couldn't bring yourself to do it today...you were sure yesterday, but you were hoping you'd feel better.

After a while of staring at the ceiling, you got up, and tried putting on your binder. Unfortunately, that made you feel worse—it was too restricting for your ribs, and made you a little more nauseous, so you took it off, and put on a tight sports bra instead under the shirt you had slept in the night before, as well as your favorite hoodie, which made you feel slightly better. You threw on some sweatpants to cover your legs, before crawling back into your warm bed.

You get your phone, and type out the text you had been reciting in your head to Stephen:

—sorry can't make it today. I'm sick

You sigh, shutting your eyes. Two pings follow quicker than you expected. You wait a bit before reading their contents:

Ok, feel better.

Do you need anything?

—thanks
—no

You mute your phone, and roll over—not wanting to be bothered by anyone...or bother anyone.

You can't remember if you slept or not when you finally decide to get out of bed around 11. You decide you should eat something, so make your way to the kitchen, and decide to make yourself a grilled cheese. You turn on your speaker, and start playing music.

You lean against the counter, and hum while you watch your grilled cheese, flipping it over until it's perfect.

You were able to distract yourself a bit from the dysphoria, allowing the music to consume the majority of your thoughts.

You slid the grilled cheese onto a plate, and cut it (or not, I'm not your parent). You were turning around to sit on the sofa when a portal materialized, and Stephen walked through, carrying a bowl.

Instinctively, you lifted the plate so that it was directly in front of you chest, and you slouched over a bit, too for good measure, cursing your ribs for not being able to tolerate the binder earlier.

He tilted his head, slightly. "What are you doing up? You should be resting."

You strained a smile. "I've been resting." You walked past him to the sofa, and set down the sandwich before sitting down quickly, and drawing your knees to your chest.

Stephen followed from a distance.

"You can put it on the table." You said, nodding to the bowl in his hands.

He sighed, setting it down. "Y/n, you need to tell me what's wrong."

"What?"

"You've been ignoring me, and everyone else who was texting you all morning. You were acting off yesterday, but you weren't showing signs of being sick...and I don't really see any now..."

You raised an eyebrow. "You don't think I'm sick."

"I think it may be something else."

You feel a knot in your stomach, and suddenly you can't bring yourself to look at him. He sits beside you on the sofa.

"Y/n, you...you get distant. I assumed it'd change overtime...but the more I get to know you the more it just...worries me." You could hear him practically flinch at his emotions at the last bit. But that didn't stop you from getting emotional at the speech. You feel yourself begin to tremble, and you bury you face against your knees.

You weren't usually emotional like this in front of people...and you hated the fact that you couldn't hold back the tears anymore.

"It-it just...it hurts..." you gasp out, shakily as you fail to hold yourself together.

You freeze for a moment at his touch, before leaning into it—recognizing it as reassuring, and comforting—not pitiful.

"Tell me what." He murmurs. You're just silent for a few moments afterwards, trembling slightly. "Y/n, please. I can't help you if you don't tell me."

You take a deep breath, and are able to speak a little more calmly now. "You—you can't help me. I'm—" You take another deep breath, before deciding you need to admit it to him. "I'm...not sick. I'm trans. I took the day off for my mental health." You admitted, there was a small weight taken off your shoulders, but you were still balled up, unable to look at him. "I—I'm sorry."

Stephen tilted his head. "What for?"

You look up. "For this," you gesture around you, "for lying to you, for not doing anything today." You sighed. "I should've just sucked it up."

He shook his head no. "If you need a break, you should take one. I just wish you would've told me so I could help you."

You nod weakly, resting your chin against you knees.

"Y/n, who told you you weren't allowed to take a break?"

You only sigh and shrug. "It's just always been an expectation...I think..."

He nods, "I understand. You are welcome to take as much time off as you need."

"Thank you."

"I will also leave if you like."

You shook your head. "No, you can stay."

"I was hoping you'd say that."

"Why?"

"Because I don't want you to isolate yourself. We've grown close, and I care about you." The words seemed almost difficult for him to articulate, it was obvious he wouldn't say that to just anyone.

"Thank you," you murmured, sitting up slightly, "can I hug you?"

He nodded, and pulled you in tightly.

"Y/n, I—I love you. You don't need to reciprocate it, but I want you to tell me when you're feeling like this, okay?" He murmured.

You nodded, registering what he just said, before tightening your grip. "I'll try. I love you too."

He smiled, and kissed your forehead, and the two of you ended up watching movies until it was time for him to leave.