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lucimorningst4r · 2 years ago

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Pairing: Doctor!Strange x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Fluff, flirtation, cuteness overload.

Word Count: 4,714

Reading time: ≈ 17 mins.

A/N: THIS IDEA WAS SO CUTE! I don’t know if there was anyone else specifically created the concept of Stephen as an animal, but I know for certain @space-mermaid-writing has a series in which Stephen transforms into a cat and ends up in the Avengers Tower. Please go read it if you have not, it’s so sweet. It’s linked in her masterlist!

This ask was from @anadlockfan so big thank you to her as well! Totally forgot to put this fic under the ask as per usual so forgive me for that.

As always, enjoy your read <3

He’d been watching you day in and day out. He knew you were exhausted, he knew you were struggling behind your other peers, and he knew you were angry with yourself. He knew how you felt. He also understood the isolation as part of the fix. He’d been observing your patterns, watching intently to make sure there was no drastic change, nothing he should be totally worried about. But then, he would always worry about you.

He’d fallen hopelessly in love with you from afar. So few words exchanged between the two of you and yet he felt there was a connection between you two. If you weren’t so insistent to spend your days alone now, he might consider inserting himself into the mix. He’d ask to sit with you in silence during your studying at the library, meditate next to you in the courtyard, walk you to your room at the end of the day, wrap you in his arms at night… yes. That all sounded very nice. But he didn’t want to push you when you had so often been shying away from him.

“You can sit, but I’m about to leave anyways.”

“I’m having a hard time focusing… I’ll just try again later.”

“No, that’s alright. My room is just down the hall, silly, but thank you.”

There was, of course, the possibility that you simply didn’t like him, but he didn’t think that was the case either. For as much as you denied him, there were some things you would drop so casually into conversation that he didn’t realize until after the fact how intimate the moment had been.

“Of course. No one in all of Kamar-Taj I’d rather sit next to.”

“It’s hard to focus on meditating when I can smell your cologne… no, don’t apologize. I like it.”

“My door is always open to you, Stephen. Any day, any time.”

Still, he wanted to be closer. He wanted to get closer without you feeling obligated to get closer to him. He didn’t care if you returned his affections, he just wanted to see that you were doing alright. Maybe you were doing better than what it seemed like from the outside? It was one day when Stephen saw you sitting in the garden, eyes following the movement of a bird on a nearby branch closely. He smiled watching as you dipped and lifted your head back and forth between the bird and your sketch pad. You then repeated the same thing with what he was assumed was an insect too small for him to see, and then a marigold that you plucked delicately from its stem and pressed into your book carefully. You were so gentle, so soft: mind, body, and soul. He’d never met another human so kind.

Never met another human so kind to him.

It wasn’t the feigned kindness that came with fame or the idea you could get something from him. It was just you. And it wasn’t just him you were so kind to, and while the idea might have made him jealous at one time, he now appreciated it. The only thing that worried him was your wasting your kindness on everyone else when these days, it was clearly you who needed it most. But you’d shrunk back into your shell, most days attempting to avoid your other peers and Masters, and that included him. Any time he tried to get close, you would turn away.

Just yesterday when he had returned from a solo mission battered and bruised, you’d made eye contact and rather than rushing to his aid like usual, you turned on your heel and scampered off. He was starting to worry it was him that had done something. He hoped not and he hoped you were missing him the way he missed you. Even if he could just get close enough to sit with you… he didn’t need to speak, he just wanted to be in your presence.

And that’s when the idea struck. It was silly and slightly deceitful, but he convinced himself there was no real harm in it. It was clear you’d come to enjoy the presence of the flora and fauna in the garden more than human life, so maybe he would ease his way back in that way.

At the end of your first week of isolation, Stephen put his plan in motion. It was a simple spell, an easy in and out. The only real issue was that he had to time it, or else he’d likely get stuck not knowing how to transform himself back and refusing to tell Wong or anyone else what he was up to. So for a half hour every afternoon, Doctor Stephen Strange, former neurosurgeon extraordinaire and Master of the Mystic Arts, transformed himself into a butterfly.

He couldn’t control the specifics of his looks, nor was he concerned with them. He was just a butterfly. Butterflies could have a million different patterns and colors, no one would think anything of the specifics of his enchantment. It took a moment the first day to get used to the feeling of flight with wings rather than the Cloak, but it was an interesting feeling and he caught on quickly enough.

Floating out his office window that he’d cracked open, he made his way to the garden and saw you sitting cross-legged on the same quilted blanket as always. Your sketchbook was by your side, but you weren’t currently absorbed in drawing anything. Taking this as his cue, he glided over to the nearest azalea bush and landed on one of the giant pink blossoms. It smelled fantastic and the entire world was in technicolor, brighter than he’d ever seen. He sat there and observed you for a while, hunched over with your chin resting in your palm, a small sort of pout on your pretty lips. You were drumming the blunt end of your pencil against the grass, a noise that Stephen could hear very, very well. You were clearly lost in thought over something, but what he couldn’t say. Unfortunately, butterflies did not have mind reading abilities.

With little more thought on the matter, Stephen flapped his wings and went flying toward you, landing softly on the patch of grass in front of you. Your pretty eyes landed on him, brows raised in astonishment, and a soft smile pulled at your lips.

“Well, hello there.” You murmured, carefully drawing back your hand and reaching for your notebook. “I know I likely don’t have long with you, but if you could just sit there one second…”

And Stephen did happily. Not too still, of course, he didn’t want to make it seem as though he’d heard your request. He would flap his wings and flutter around a bit from spot to spot, sometimes turning a different way from that which he had landed so it didn’t look like he was posing. At one point he flew back over to the azalea bush he had first landed on and waited there for a minute or two. The two of you sat there in silent observation of on another, your eyes searching his small form, occasionally straying back to your sketch pad, pencil moving momentarily before looking back up to check if he was there. You eventually angled your body towards him and he took it as his cue to fly back over, this time landing on the pathos growing up Kamar-Taj’s garden wall behind you.

Stephen’s butterfly heart gave a little jolt when he heard you mumble to yourself and him, “You’re very beautiful, has anyone ever told you?”

And given that it was his first day as a butterfly, he longed to tell you they had not, and he appreciated your compliment very much. He thought you were the prettiest girl he had ever seen. But instead, he only gave his wings a few noticeable twitches and smiled inwardly. Stephen also realized that keeping track of time was significantly harder than he thought it would be. He kept distracting himself with his observations of you. The little twitch of your nose when you’d look up to the sun, the way you used your ring finger to blend in your sketch book, the critical movement of your eyes as you observed the scene he’d put himself in for you, and a million other little things he’d never noticed in his human form. He realized quickly that these smaller things were only endearing him to you more, pulling him deeper in without a word actually exchanged between the two of you, no real conversation.

He also noticed that it made you happy. To have something to intentionally set your mind to, a place to direct your energy. But he knew he needed to return to his office sooner rather than later. If he transformer while perched on a leaf, he’d have a lot to explain to both you and the grounds keeper when he tore the pathos from the wall. So without timing it too carefully, he fluttered away, brushing right by your line of sight and set back out for his office.

When he got there he sat himself in what now looked to be a gigantic wingback chair and waited patiently for his spell to wear off. And in the knick of time too, as it was only about two minutes before he was back in his human form, the Cloak round his shoulders, and skin nice and warm from his time in the sun. It was a small start, but it was a start none the less. Spending just a half hour in your presence and watching you work, feeling that he lended you just a spark of joy had made his day entirely better.

So he made it a regular thing.

Over the course of three weeks, Stephen went to see you as a butterfly fifteen of those days… and you had been in the garden seventeen. He was more than happy to spend a half hour of his day in your company. It had become something he looked forward to, and as strange as it sounded, the two of you were getting closer. It had started with a small invitation on your part. One day Stephen had arrived in the garden a few moments before you on purpose, sitting on his azalea bush looking like a normal butterfly scoping out the landscape. You’d set down your quilt and art bag and walked over to him slowly, crouching down and extending your index finger to him carefully. Stephen had been delighted with the offer and accepted eagerly, using his fragile little legs to crawl onto your shaking hand. He didn’t know your hands shook, and then he couldn’t help but wonder if he had a tremor anywhere to represent his own shaking hands? If he did, you seemed unconcerned. You had sat there with him, observing him closely before teaching back out to the azalea bush in an offering for him to return to what you considered his home.

As he situated himself on the azalea bloom once more you whispered a small, “Thank you.” And walked off to set up your space. Stephen let you settle and gave it about five minutes before fluttering over and settling himself actually on your quilt rather than the grass in front of you. You gave a little giggle and said aloud, “I don’t mind if you sit with me. Plenty of room for two on this quilt. I made it for two, actually.” You run your hands over the maroon scraps carefully and admit a little sadly, “I… I actually made it for a friend, you know? But I chickened out of giving it to him. I thought he would think—“ You gave a little sigh and shake your head, “stupid. Men don’t want quilts. It just happened though. When I saw the fabrics at the stall I thought of him immediately. He has this one thing he wears a lot that’s almost this color. Very pretty, suits him well.” You gave another shyer little laugh and admit, “Everything suits him well, he’s very handsome.”

Stephen was slightly devastated by this news. Which of the intermediate students in their maroon colored robes had you taken a liking to? Who did you think was cute? Still, his jealousy was slightly quelled by the excitement of you speaking to him. His butterfly form had earned your trust. Still, his getting there earlier meant he had less time with you than usual. So after he was certain you’d exhausted your thoughts on the matter, he returned to his office. He waited in his chair like normal and when he reappeared in his human form, he was immediately met with his own eyes in the mirror across from him. His hair was slightly disheveled, the collar of the Cloak stuck up at a weird angle—

The maroon colored collar of the Cloak.

He looked down and pulled the hem into his lap, running his hand over the fabric and couldn’t help but quirk a smile. Well, he did wear it often. The Cloak gave its collar a little shake to right its position and Stephen chuckled.

“I do like the red, if I’ve never mentioned it.” He said to the sentient fabric, “Even more now, if she likes it too.” The Cloak ruffles its collar and Stephen replies, “Yeah… I like her too.” He smiles at himself in the mirror and gives a wink, “She thinks I look handsome in everything.” Cloak detached from his shoulders and comes to a hover in front of his desk. After a few complicated gestures Stephen scoffs, “Yes, of course I like her. She’s the sweetest person I’ve ever met and the fact that she’s got that doll face doesn’t hurt either.” Cloak gives a sort of shrug and he answers, “I’ll tell her eventually, but not now. It’s not the right time. I want to give it some more time.”

Two days after when he returned to the garden, you absolutely lit up upon seeing him. He immediately flew over, being so bold as to situate himself atop your newest drawing in your sketchbook. That day, it was a detailed sketch of the veranda in the far corner. It was lovely. Stephen had never understood people whose hands could do that. His own had been so talented at one point, but never talented enough to create something from nothing. He could reconstruct or subtract, but he could never do this.

“There you are.” You’d said happily, “I missed you yesterday, where were you? I looked all over.” Stephen fluttered his wings in reply and wanted to tell you he hadn’t meant to miss your date, he’d just had an unplanned class to cover for another Master. “I do wonder where you go, you know? You fly off and I never know where to. I suppose to the front where they have that ivy and the lilies growing, hm?” You hold the blunt end of your pencil a few inches in front of him and ask, “Would you mind crawling up here? I’d like to keep drawing, I’m feeling inspired for the first time in a long time.”

Stephen complied immediately, crawling onto the graphite pencil and settling on the very end, appreciating how gently you moved as he sat atop it. He watched your careful strokes and shading, wishing he had the ability to express his love for the work. At one point there was the sound of someone else approaching from the little gravel path and you paused to look up. Wong stood at the edge and paused upon seeing he was interrupting.

“Oh, pardon me, Miss Y/L/N. I didn’t know anyone was back here.”

“Don’t mind me.” You objected immediately, “It’s your fortress, is it not, Sorcerer Supreme.”

Wong gives a tight smile, “I prefer to think it belongs to all of us.” He paused for a moment and says, “I thought perhaps I would find Master Strange out here. I went looking for him the other day at this time and he wasn’t in his office. When I asked him where he was, he told me he’d been spending this time of day in the gardens.”

Stephen went totally still, probably looking a bit like some bizarre pencil topper. He had told Wong that, but he hadn’t ever considered Wong would come looking for him in the gardens. He felt as you shifted around a bit, taking in your surroundings once more, watching as Wong’s eyes roved past the marigold bushes to the side.

“Well, I haven’t seen anyone out here today… just me. Usually is just me this time of day.” You pause and inquire, “Are you sure he said the gardens? I don’t think I’ve ever seen him out here. Maybe he meant the courtyard or greenhouse?”

“I think I’ll check the greenhouse…” Wong says, “Thank you, Miss Y/L/N. Enjoy your time in the sun.”

“You’re welcome, Master Wong. Good luck hunting down Doctor Strange.”

As soon as Wong turned his back, Stephen took off, regretful having to leave you so soon, but wanting to be back in his office when Wong almost assuredly went to hunt him down. He could say he had gone down to the kitchens to get some water, the heat being too much for him today. And when Wong came to address him, there he sat in his chair, glass of water— including condensation to prove passage of time— sitting on his desk, a report about his latest mission open and in progress. It worked like a charm. Wong asked about his coverage of the class the day prior and went on his way. Stephen pat himself on the back for a job well done.

About a week after that he’d spend his entire half hour resting on your knee, the two of you soaking up the sun together, a small smile on your face. Stephen had noticed a change in your attitude the last few days in particular. You had been more social both during and after classes, more prone to engage in conversation with the Masters, and you had started stopping to speak with him in the hallways again. He was happier to talk to you than ever, always overjoyed to see your smiling face and talk about anything and everything. His crush had doubled in size and he was certain it was now way beyond that. His time spent as your butterfly friend had completely and totally endeared him to you and he was intent to tell you about it feelings sooner rather than later. He just wanted you to have a bit more time being comfortable with yourself before then.

But he should have known the charade couldn’t last too long, no matter how well it was going. If there was one thing about you he should have factored into the equation, it was your keen eye. You noted the smallest details, tracked similarities and differences, understood patterns in a way most others wouldn’t. He wasn’t sure if it was your artist eye or your emotionally in tune need to understand those around you, but at some point you caught on. He wasn’t sure when exactly, but on day twenty-one, you made it abundantly clear you had caught him red-handed.

Or blue-winged, more like it.

He was sitting on your shoulder that day, a gentle breeze having him feel extra sensitive. Without thinking too much of it, he fluttered down and settle in front of your jacket lying in a pile next to you. The small mount of cloth acting as a shield from the wind, his wings flattened out in a stretch. He was enjoying the lovely scent of your jacket when he felt you shift behind him.

He turned around to find you leaning over him, a small smile on your lips as you said calmly, “You know… one of the first things I ever noticed about you was the color of your wings. It might be a bit too romantic of a notion… but they’re almost the same color as one of my friends eyes.” You held out your hand and Stephen crawled into your palm, facing you and looking up at you waiting for continuation. He still had no idea what his coloring looked like, though he had a decent idea of his shape from the subtitule of sketches that now filled once blank pages in your book.

“He has the most beautiful eyes, really. Bright blue. The kind of eyes that make a girls heart flutter. Never told him though, always too nervous.” Stephen’s heart skipped a beat as he was fairly certain it was him you were talking about. “Even weirder… he has this really great hair too. This beautiful, dark, chocolatey brown… almost black. But there are these silver-ish streaks at his temples.” You reach up with your free hand and curl a strand of your own hair around your finger in the same location. “Which is sort of funny, because the outer edges of your wings are the same sort of dark brown, and toward your abdomen there’s this lighter brown to white gradient.”

Stephen thought you would chalk it up to coincidence and end your little spill there, but instead, you continued, “There’s also— and this is really weird— these red and yellow… almost gold, really, spots around the perimeters of your wings. Which is only funny because he— my friend— he wears this cloak that’s red with gold detailing. The same guy I told you I made this quilt for, if you remember?” You narrow your eyes at him and ask, “Isn’t that strange?”

Stephen didn’t think, he just took off. He was reading your suggestion loud and clear and was absolutely mortified. He flew as fast as his wings would carry him, straight to his office, through the window, and straight into his chair. He checked the clock and with a start realized he still had five full minutes until he went back to regular old Stephen. It was quite possibly the longest five minutes of his life— and at the same time also the shortest, as he really needed all the time he could get to come up with an alibi, an excuse, literally anything but admitting he’d been stalking you in butterfly form for just short of a month.

There were about fifteen seconds left on the clock before his office door bust open and you came stumbling in, looking around wildly. You approached his desk, leaning on the large oak and just so happened to glance down and find a little butterfly in the Master’s chair. Stephen blinked and he was back to his normal human form, face bright red and at a loss for words. What was there to say?

“It was you.” You say after a moment of silence, “It was. I thought I was losing my mind.”

Knowing there was no good lying would do, Stephen gave a curt nod and crossed his arms over his chest, “It was me.”

“Why?”

“How long have you known?” He tries to redirect

You flip down into the chair across from his own and admit, “My suspicion started the day Master Wong came to look for you. I didn’t understand why you would lie about being in the garden… lying isn’t really your thing. You’re an honest man, it’s one of the things I admire about you.” You pause to think a moment and begin again, “Then there was a week or so back when you asked to see what I was sketching in the library. It was that butterfly. I guessed it was just your curiosity, but I thought it was a bit odd because you’ve never asked to look at my work before.”

“I thought that was typically considered rude.” Stephen mutters, “I didn’t want to upset or embarrass you… but I wanted to know what I looked like.”

You press on, “Then I realized my butterfly would go missing on days you were covering classes or away in missions. And it was just the other day I put together the color scheme thing. When you stopped me in the hall to talk about my advancement in the charms class. I was…” You stutter and a faint blush colors your cheeks but you admit, “There was a ray of sunshine falling over you just right and I was trying to make a list of the marker colors I’d need to recreate it. When I went to pull the colors that night I realized they were already sitting on top of the inked butterfly I had finished the day before.”

Stephen can’t help but smirk, “You were going to draw me?”

“You transmutated yourself into a butterfly to sit with me in the gardens?” You return with a slight tilt of your head and a sly smile before repeating, “Why?”

Stephen lets out a long, silent sigh before admitting, “I missed you. You’d been avoiding me. You were clearly in some sort of funk and I didn’t want to push, but I didn’t… I didn’t want you to feel alone either, Y/N.”

You roll your lips together and slink back in your chair, “I wasn’t… I didn’t mean to start avoiding you. It’s just…” The blush on your cheeks burns brighter as you share, “There was a rumor going around.”

“A rumor?”

“Yes.” You nod, “I was drawing during class one day and one of the guys took my sketch book and started going through and… and there are sketches of you in there, and everyone started making fun of me—“ Stephen experiences a very confused mix of emotions between anger for you being treated that way and a certain softness that he had been one of your muses long before he knew it. “I was scared someone told you and that you’d think I was a freak or had a crush on you…” You pause and look up at him, twiddling your thumbs and clearing your throat as you add, “Not to say that— you’re very attractive, hence the drawings— but I know it’s inappropriate… to feel that way… for you.”

“Is it inappropriate?” He asks softly, “If so, I’ll attempt to discontinue my own feelings for you as soon as possible.”

“Your… your own feelings for me?”

“Of course.” He says with a shy sort of smile, “Why else would a man turn into a butterfly and sit in silence with you nearly every day?”

You give a little giggle and run your palms over the legs of your robes, “I guess— what you said at first sounded like you were just a mentor worried about a student—“

“Well, certainly that as well.” Stephen agrees quickly, “I didn’t like seeing you so down. I wanted to make sure there wasn’t something worse going on. But I will say, I had no idea about your sketchbook being stolen, nor would I have tolerated that behavior had I been around.”

You scrub your hands down your face and groan, “God it was so embarrassing. Literally a school girl crush—“

“I didn’t know having a crush on me was so terrible.” Stephen teases

“Oh! That’s not what I meant!” You all but whine, “Master Strange—“

“Stephen.” He offers, “I think you should call me Stephen.”

He smiles as you look up to him and repeat, “Stephen.”

“Yeah. Not only would it be a bit weird to refer to me as ‘Master Strange’ on a date, but my name sounds pretty when you say it, Sweetheart.” Stephen flirts boldly, leaning forward over the desk, “I was thinking same time as usually tomorrow? I can bring us food if you’ll bring the quilt. I’ll even sweeten the deal and stay longer than thirty minutes.”

He could visibly see the joy radiating from you at the offer and was relieved when you replied, “I do hope you’ll bring yourself in this form… as pretty as you are as a butterfly, I think I prefer you like this.”

“You think I was pretty?” He teases

His heart melts as you reply earnestly, “Prettiest butterfly and man I’ve ever seen, Stephen.”

tag list: @yuu-chan-is-still-a-student12 @fireworksinthesky @cemak @pinkthick @cumbrbatchbenedict @newavenger @evelyn-kingsley @aphroditesdilemma @ironstrange1991 @strangeobsessed @iamsherlocked1479 @rmoonstoner @the-royal-petals @avahiddlestonstan @rookiemartin @azu21 @meeom @vickie-mcmuffin @vi0letdaze

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