100 Marvel One Shots✔️

Comfort Cooking feat. A Comfort Eater >> Stephen Strange X Forgotten!Reader

Title: Comfort Cooking feat. A Comfort Eater

Paring: Stephen Strange X Reader

Warnings: shyness, food, cooking, fluff

Spoilers: yes, for Doctor Strange (2016)

Requested By: theConjurerSpark -- I've only recently watched Doctor Strange so please, please forgive me for writing your request so late! 

Author's Note: IDK if it was like this for just me, but when I watched <i>Doctor Strange</i>, I felt really uncomfortable seeing him w/out his facial hair? Like, when he's clean-shaven, that's Sherlock Holmes, not Stephen Strange, my dudes. Anyways. Enough rambling.

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You met him in the mountain village. Everyone spoke of the disrespectful foreigner, more so than anyone else who had come to Kamar-Taj to study the mystic arts. More than you remember them every speaking of you. Then again, few people talked to you, if any. Here, in Kamar-Taj, you worked on your meditation, how to channel your prana, using a sling ring...the usual.

While you watched from afar, learning slow, steady, you seemed to see the fanatical Stephen Strange performing quicker than anyone, speeding along with his learning. While he made friends with Mordo, you kept to yourself, while he used his sling ring for endless studies, you stuck to the regime the rest of the people did. Not that you weren't bright enough, or courageous enough – the man was cockier than you, than anyone else here.

It was an October when you were making supper for yourself. Not a fan of all the dishes made for the rest of the people, you took it upon yourself to hoard packet ramen and other foods that kept you going when you missed home. It wasn't like home missed you, but still. Nothing beat winding down from the day by making a good bowl of ramen.

"Where did you get fries?" A deep voice asked.

You almost drop the tray you're working on over the small cookstove, and whirling around, you get into position to fight whoever has snuck up on you. But the curious person whose inquisition about your once-potatoes is not here to attack you. It's just the new guy. Strange.

"I smelt them, nobody makes them here," he adds, seeing your stance.

You raise your eyebrows. You live in the rooms furthest away from all the commotion in Kamar-Taj, and incredulous, you ask, "You smelt my fries?" A beat passes between the pair of you, and still holding the tray, you add, "You're not going to leave until you get some, aren't you?"

He nods.

You huff, knowing what people from your old country were like. "Americans..." you mutter. Placing the tray that you were making down, you busy yourself by selecting a few chips for the intruder (and filcher) and wrap them in old newspaper. "There, enjoy." You say, handing the small parcel into his quivering hands. "Grew them myself."

He thanks you, and giving you a small nod, excuses himself. Even though you've just lost a handful of your favourite comfort food, you feel something small, and warm explode inside your chest. You shake your head, not thinking anything of it, and go back to serving your homemade French-fries and settling down with a good textbook on the mirror dimension.

When the news came to you of what Kaisilius had done to the Ancient One, you sat down breathless, empty, unsure. She had been the roots to your new life here in Kamar-Taj; you could not fathom a world without the leader who had taught you more than loss and agony. The fancy American ex-doctor had seen it happen, according to the gossiper you overheard, but the party he was with had not returned yet.