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[ironstrangehaven]

IronStrange Week 2026

Thank you to everyone who participated in IronStrange Week. The prompts were great and the works were amazing. Thank you so much! If y’all want to still write for this event the collection is still open.

The AO3 collection is still open and ready for more works. The All Events Master List is slowly being updated to include the tags for this IronStrange Week.

IronStrange Week Master Collection

[orenjis-205]

Mb guys i was busy and forgot i could post stuff

Heres some apology yaoi doodle

[airas-story]

Prompt for the coming from a different dimension

Sequel to one, two, three, four, and five.

“Pepper set me up with a bank account,” Tony said, sounding genuinely baffled as he fell into the seat opposite Stephen while Stephen procrastinated on making dinner. “Actually, she set me up with multiple bank accounts, a bunch of investments, and then transferred several properties under my name.”

Stephen eyed him, trying to get a feel for how Tony felt about it. He didn’t seem entirely overwhelmed by it, the way he had when it had first been brought up. There was still a furrow to his brow, but Tony had apparently accepted this one. “How do you feel about that?” Stephen asked.

Tony made a face. “Haven’t really decided. The resources are less awkward than the whole… Morgan thing. It’s not going to take long for word of me to get out there. Right now Morgan doesn’t know I exist. And that’s… I’m not Morgan’s dad; I don’t have those experiences with her, I didn’t raise her, I’m not the dad she loves. But at the same time… well, you’ve seen how everyone looks at me. Everyone still sees me as him. So…” Tony shrugged, a tired acceptance of it. “Neither me nor Pepper really know how a five year old is going to react to the whole thing. That’s kind of looming right now.”

There was a truth to that. People would verbally acknowledge that this Tony wasn’t their Tony, but at the same time they didn’t seem to really see it. In part, Stephen suspected, because most of them didn’t really want to.

It was complicated.

“Anyway,” Tony said. “The point is I now have resources.”

“Yes,” Stephen agreed, wondering if this was Tony leading up to saying it was time for him to leave the Sanctum. Where would he go if he did? Stephen wanted to support Tony entirely, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t worry about Tony.

“Which means I can take you out to dinner,” Tony continued. Uncertainty flickered over his face. “If that’s… something you want?”

Stephen needed to make sure they were on the same page. “Are you saying you want to go out to eat?” Stephen asked. “In a general sense. Or you want to—” he took a deep breath, “—go out on a date?”

Tony made a face. “Well, I do kind of want to just… be around people. It still feels…” He closed his eyes. “To see them all alive. I think I’m ready for that, even if I’m not sure I’m ready to be recognized.” Stephen could make sure that didn’t happen until Tony was ready for it. “But… yeah, I’d like to go out on a date. With you.”

There was no doubt that Stephen wanted that, but he didn’t want Tony to feel pressured or indebted. “I’d love to go out with you,” he said honestly. “But are you sure?”

Tony’s lip twitched up in a smile. “Yeah, I really am.”

“Then yes,” Stephen said. “I’d love to.”

[infiniteeight8]

Non-smutty prompt: nothing is particularly going wrong, but nothing's going right either, and Stephen can't shake a persistently low funk. So how does Tony cheer Stephen up?

I have had days like this. We should all have a friend like Tony is here. 😀

-

Stephen was trying to read, but if he was honest, he didn’t think he was retaining anything. Which just seemed par for the course, lately. Effort that rewarded nothing. Sighing, he rubbed his eyes. Things might improve if he could get a good night’s sleep, but even when he went to bed on time, he kept waking up early and tired. The Cloak patted his shoulder sympathetically and Stephen smiled tiredly and patted it back.

A knocking sound prompted him to turn his head. Tony stood in the doorway. “Hey, Stephen. You got a minute for a break?”

Why not? It’s not like he was getting anything done. “Yes. Do you need something?” Maybe he could get something done for Tony if not for himself.

Tony held out his phone. “Can you portal us here?”

Stephen studied the picture. “Certainly.” He opened the gate and blinked when Tony waved him through.

“I did say ‘us’,” Tony reminded him.

“Alright.”

Stephen stepped through, Tony following, and looking around the room to find a set of glass doors that led directly out onto a brightly lit beach. The sky was a clear blue and waves lapped at the sand. It could have been any of a hundred places.

“Come on,” Tony said, leading him out onto the beach. 

Stephen followed, squinting for a moment at the brightness. Warmth immediately enveloped him. Looking up and down the beach, they seemed to be completely alone. “Why are we here?” he asked, turning to find that Tony had boots and gauntlets on, but not the rest of the armor.

Tony grinned. “We’re going flying.”

“Flying?” Stephen asked, startled. The Cloak perked up, poking Stephen’s cheek with a lapel eagerly. “Why?”

“Because it’s fun,” Tony said. He activated his repulsors, blowing away a shower of sand. The Cloak flipped up to shield Stephen and then quickly lifted off, giving itself a shake to shed the sand and then gesturing at Tony.

He just laughed. “Sorry, Levi!” Then he took off into the clear blue sky.

The Cloak jetted after him without consulting Stephen. A startled shout escaped him, but the Cloak just did a barrel roll. Stephen laughed and settled in for the ride, content to let the Cloak do the driving for now. 

Tony led them on a merry chase for a while before settling into a hover well out over the ocean. Stephen stretched out on his back, eyes closed as the sun shone down on him. It felt good. 

The quiet roar of Tony’s repulsors came closer. “Better?”

Stephen smiled. “Yes.” He turned his head and opened his eyes, taking in Tony fondly. “Thank you.”

“I’m always up for playing hooky,” Tony said lightly.

Stephen laughed. Tony was just as much of a workaholic as he was. “I’m holding you to that.”

Tony stuck his tongue out at him and Stephen laughed again.

[winterspiderpurrs]

prompt for you purrs!! bio son peter had a brain tumor when he was five and stephen was the surgeon who did the surgery way back. peter’s dad, tony, remembers stephen vividly. it’s the doctor who saved his little boy. but stephen doesn’t remember tony. he’s had thousands of patients throughout his career.

but, they meet at a gala. tony’s CEO of SI and he’s donated a huge sum to medical research. stephen and tony meet at the bar🤭🤭💗💗

- @professional-benaddict 💗💗

Taking a sip of champagne he glanced around the elaborate ballroom. Orchestra playing music near the stage. Some people were dancing, huddling in corners talking, laughing at the tables. And here was Stephen off the side next to the bar watching.

He had to make an appearance, the hospital told him it was mandatory. Apparently there was a fundraiser and some rich guy donated a large sum and is now going to have an entire wing dedicated. He was about to take another sip of his drink when he felt a presence move up next to him.

" You're a hard one to get ahold of Strange."

" Doctor Strange. I suppose your the one to thank for this generous donation and event?"

"Actually you should be thanking yourself Doc."

Stephen frowned.

" Why do you say that?"

" Well. I wasn't getting your attention in the traditional methods."

" My attention? We haven't even met before."

" Yeah. Rude of you to rush out of the room but got other lives to save I suppose. But I would never forget the name of the surgeon who saved my son."

They stared at each other a long moment, Stephen trying to rack his brain about having operated on this particular patient.

" We flew you out to California. Sent over his brain scans and you took the case."

Now he was remembering, he recalls getting a call about a case. He wanted a challenge and once he saw those scans he accepted the rushed call. With in a few hours he was in California, meeting up with the current doctors working the case. The surgery was already scheduled to happen. But money talks and when someone wanted the best, Dr. Strange was in the top 3.

" I apologize. I didn't know. Is your son doing well? The doctors there never reached back out so I must assume recovery went according to plan?"

" Light of my life and pain in my ass he is doing great. Better than great. Perfect even. But maybe thats me being a proud parent."

Stephen snorted and nodded.

"Well. Now I guess I should be thanking you. The new wing of hospital will do wonders."

*************

@professional-benaddict it's short but I wanted to write something before I forget! 🙃🙃 I of course pulled a muscle in my back shoveling snow haha

[airas-story]

"If that’s not destiny, than I don’t know anything"

“I don’t even know what to do with this,” Tony said, feeling a little helpless. “It’s not—” He took a deep breath and barely resisted burying his face in his hands. “Things like this aren’t supposed to be real.”

Strange—Stephen, it felt odd to call him Strange given… everything—sat on the couch a few feet away from him, looking just as lost as Tony felt. Tony wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. Stephen was the magic man here, it wasn’t reassuring that he was apparently as lost as Tony was.

“Things like this are certainly… rare,” Wong said. “I have searched our books extensively and found only two other instances of this happening.”

This.

Some weird, bizarre, psychic-but-not bond that seemed to have amplified everything. The air felt crisper, the world more defined, his emotions sharper, something like power inside of him more real.

All because he had made the mistake of leaning on the Cauldron of the Cosmos and Strange—Stephen—had made the mistake of touching him. The cauldron had apparently been big on the whole mysteries of the cosmos thing, because what had happened to him and Stephen… yeah, that seemed like it fell under that jurisdiction.

“Is it permanent?” Stephen asked. “Or was it in those past cases?”

Wong gave them a look that Tony took to mean the answer should be obvious. Though maybe Tony was reading it wrong. He’d known Wong for like… two days, but he’d already learned the man could be inscrutable. Though maybe the fact that his expression was so clear meant that the answer should be very, very obvious.

“This is the weight of the cosmos, Stephen. The universe.” There was something in Wong’s eyes that might have been awe. “Such bonds don’t break.” He gave them another pointed look. “And it came at just the right moment,” he added. “The power it granted you allowed you to stand against four infinity stones, allowed you to stand between destruction on a scale hither to undreamt of and our world.” He shook his head. “If that’s not destiny, then I don’t know anything.”

Destiny.

Yeah. Tony really didn’t know what to do with that. He certainly didn’t know how he was going to explain it to anyone. 

To Pepper.

Destiny.

It didn’t necessarily mean anything even as it meant everything.

And the thing was, Tony couldn’t regret it, Wong was right, it had let them stand against Thanos and his threat. But at the same time…

Destiny.

He really didn’t know what to do with that.

[infiniteeight8]

Hi,

I’m not sure if your prompts are still open but if so I would love to suggest one! I’ve never submitted one here so hopefully I’m not breaking any prompting rules.

I would love to see an overprotective sorcerer!Stephen and a what-the-heck-is-going-on?!Tony. Up to you if they are already together or if that’s how oblivious!Tony realizes he has feels for Stephen.

Thanks!

You’re all good! And welcome! 😀

-

“Well, I’m going to get back to testing the armor’s new weapons system,” Tony told Sam, as he turned to exit the conference room. He only managed to suppress a startled flinch when Stephen appeared as if out of nowhere.

“Would you like some wards?” the sorcerer offered. “Weapons testing is dangerous.”

“I do have my own safety systems,” Tony informed him, heading out of the room.

Stephen trailed after him. “Of course. But you can’t be too careful about these things. New systems can have unpredictable results even when operating correctly.”

Tony can’t help but remember his very first repulsor flight test at 10% thrust capacity. Still, he’s improved his safety procedures a lot since then. “I’ll be okay, doc, I promise.”

“I’m sure, but another layer of protection can’t hurt.”

Tony turned to look at him. “Do you know something I don’t know?”

Was that… Was Stephen blushing? “No, no, nothing like that. I just want you to be… safe.”

Tony doesn’t think he’s lying, but at the same time: “And here I thought maybe you were angling to get time alone with me.” Oh yes, that absolutely was a blush. Quite an attractive one, too. Tony managed to tamp his delighted smile down to a smirk. “I might even say yes to that.”

“Well, that would be…” Stephen hesitated “...an additional benefit.”

Tony grinned. “Come on, then.”

[crowsandriddles]

My last post for @fanartfrenzy :D

This time inspired by chapter 4 of A change in perspective

I love anything thats Midnight suns Ironstrange and i adore this fic so much. Its definitely one of my favourites.

Fic info below!

Summary: Stephen finds out that Tony asked The Hunter to teach him about magic. He jumps to all kinds of conclusions.

Pairing: Ironstrange

Key tags: misunderstandings, getting together

[flightsporadic]

pinned against the wall

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: Gen, M/M Fandoms: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Iron Man (Movies), Doctor Strange (Movies) Relationship: Background Tony Stark/Stephen Strange Characters: Tony Stark, Stephen Strange, mentioned Peter Parker Additional Tags: Whump, Trapped, POV Tony Stark, Hopeful Ending Words: 499

Summary:

For Whumpuary 2026 - Day 27: "i tried" | pinned against the wall | haunted Tony closed his eyes and forced himself to concentrate, pushing back rising panic as best he could.

On AO3

Tony inched forward on silent feet, back pressed against the outside wall of the building. Stephen and Peter had been treating him like he was made of glass ever since they’d entered this dimension that somehow neutralized his nanites, and he was getting fed up with it.

Tony might be lacking his most powerful tool, but he wasn’t useless. When he’d detected the energy signature he’d been looking for while both Stephen and Peter were out, he’d decided to take a look himself. He just needed to exercize a bit more caution than usual.

He inched forward, another careful step, and a warning ping sounded in his ear at the same moment as a grinding sound came from above him. Tony took a quick step backwards, but it wasn’t enough. The trap snapped down from above, crashing into Tony and crushing him against the wall.

His breath was forced out of him in a wheeze, and he was pinned in place by a slab of this dimension’s favored concrete-ish material. He tried to suck in another breath against the sudden sharp pain in his right arm, which had ended up wedged between the front of his body and the trap when it came down, but he could barely get any air.

Instinctively, he tried again to get a decent breath, and again – but it failed. The slab pinning him against the wall ended partway up his chest, compressing both it and his abdomen. Tony closed his eyes and forced himself to concentrate, pushing back rising panic as best he could.

He could still breathe, he could. His upper ribcage wasn’t constrained at all, he just needed to breathe in the right way, raise his shoulders… He hissed in pain and fought against sudden vertigo as the tugging on his immobilized right arm causing a sickening sort of wrench in his elbow.

Okay, raise mainly his left shoulder, let his upper ribcage expand… and again. It was barely enough, the urge to gasp for breath unrelenting. But as long as he focused, he could get enough air to stay conscious. He just… he also needed… He shifted his left arm carefully, feeling for the improvised backup transponder in his pocket. There! He ran his fingers along it, finding and triggering the activation groove.

Tony slumped back in relief, but that was a mistake. He gasped back the urge to scream when it sent a stab of a new sort of pain through his right arm. He was getting dangerously lightheaded, and he had no idea how long it would take Stephen and Peter to get to him. He couldn’t afford to lose consciousness.

Carefully, Tony breathed. Left shoulder up, don’t yank on the right shoulder, that would fuck everything up. Expand as much of his ribs as he could. Breathe. Again. And again. It consumed his entire awareness.

Tony had no idea how long it had been when he finally registered Stephen’s face in front of him, pinched with worry.

[kittyswritingcorner]

close quarters

Summary:

After a mission gone awry, Tony and an injured Stephen are stuck under a cave-in, and are forced to be in close quarters with each other as Stephen slowly bleeds out. 

Word Count: 3,223

Rating: T

Characters/Relationships: Tony Stark/Stephen Strange

Tags: Hurt Stephen Strange, Injury, Cave-In, Stephen Strange Whump, Near Death Experiences, hey so ive got 20 minutes left to live but before that lemme confess my homosexual feelings to you as i slowly bleed out in your arms

A/N: First fill for @febuwhump 2026, alt prompt 1: environmental whump. Special thanks to my lovely, hilarious, inimitable beta and a brilliant human being, @harpywritesfic 💖 

AO3

“There’s gotta be a way out of here,” Tony pants, faceplate retracting. He observes the wall of rock before him, trying to find the slightest of crevices. “We are not going to just sit here and wait till Cap saves our asses.” 

“It’s our best bet,” Strange says, watching him, sitting where he is against the cave-in’s wall of stone. “My slingie’s not anywhere I can find it. Your suit took significant damage. Both our comms are non-functional. Dislodging any of the rocks is not an option—that might just lead to another cave-in. Waiting for the team is our best bet, Tony.” 

“No,” Tony insists, frantic now. He feels along the massive boulders blocking their way. “I still have some thruster power left, maybe if I float up there and have a look, I’ll find a way to make a gap—” 

“And send the whole thing crashing down on us? Oh sure, why don’t you just move that rock over there, or maybe that one, see what happens.” Tony clenches his jaw, grinds it. Trust Strange to be a real beacon of hope during a situation like this. “Look,” Strange continues in a different voice, “We can’t afford to be reckless now. We can trust the rest of the team to continue the fight—we were already at an advantage, earlier, they just need to push back a little and—” His breath stutters here, and Tony whips his head back in alarm. 

“Wizard?” He frowns. “Something the matter?” 

“I’m fine,” is Strange’s immediate, tight reply. “I just— I might’ve taken a hit. It’s not a big deal.” 

“Jesus,” Tony mutters, making his way over. He hadn’t noticed with how dark it is here, and the cloak having concealed practically Strange’s entire torso, but Strange seems to slump at an angle, favouring one side. All of a sudden his refusal to do anything but sit there completely immobile seems a lot less like apathy, and a lot more like something else. He crouches beside the sorcerer to get a better look. “Let me see,” he asks. Reluctantly, the cloak pulls back, and Tony gently places a hand against his side. It comes off warm and wet. “Jesus,” he mutters again, sharper. 

“It’s fine,” Strange snaps. Tony presses against it again, getting the smallest of flinches, feeling something else underneath; a rhythmic tremor in the muscle, subtle but unmistakable. 

“You’re going into shock,” Tony realises. Stephen’s eyes shut tightly, breath audibly ragged, now that Tony’s close enough to hear it. 

“I’m—fine.” 

“No you’re not, for fuck’s sake. And you call yourself a doctor.” Tony tries to take a closer look at the wound with the dim light from the arc reactor. Not good. “Okay, I’m gonna need to move you. It’s going to help, but it’s also going to hurt, so tell me if it gets too much, okay?” 

“Okay,” Strange rasps, actually complying. 

Slowly, Tony shifts him to lay down. Strange seems to be trying very hard not to make any noise—he’s pretty sure the average person would be screaming and writhing in pain by now. He makes sure to position Strange in a way that slightly elevates his legs, while ensuring his injured side isn’t too aggravated. Strange’s hands are clenching painfully. 

“Little help here, Red,” he says once settled, hastily grabbing the edge of the cloak. It bundles itself up as he presses against the dark gash, hard. Strange bites his lip to stifle a groan, and something about that makes Tony’s insides clench. The man hardly ever shows any outward signs of pain—to see him actually hurt like this makes Tony want to fly back out there and rip out the heads of those purple-blooded creatures. He allows himself a brief mental image of himself tearing through its flesh, down to the bones and ligaments as it screeches and writhes in pain underneath him. 

“Okay, there. We’re going to try and stop the bleeding—hey, no, stay with me now. Strange, you can’t fall asleep. You need to stay conscious, okay? At least until the others find us. Strange, hey, come on.” 

Strange nods his head incrementally, just a jerk of the chin. “Fuck,” he pants. 

“Yeah,” Tony says, breathless all of a sudden. He’s pleased to note that the tremor in Stephen’s body is slowly subsiding. “They’re going to find us, okay? Wong is out there, and I’m pretty sure he’d tear through hell and back just to get to you.” 

“He’s… I don’t know if they saw where—we were cut off,” Strange says, “Tony, I don’t know if…”

“Hey, no, come on. Stay with me. They’re going to find us, okay? They will.” He tries to calculate how much time Strange has left: rate of blood loss against time since they’ve been trapped. The rest have about a half hour window here to find them—surely they’ll make it in time? 

“Tony.” 

“Yes?” 

“Tony?”

“I’m here, right here. You gotta stay conscious, Gandalf, come on.” 

“I’m… trying.” 

“I know. Look, you’re coming to the party this Friday, right, remember? My birthday. Everyone’s coming. You could do your magic tricks. Balloon animals, and shit.” 

“I can’t actually make those. Balloon animals.”

“Sure you can.” 

“No,” he says, smiling weakly. Tony smiles back. “Listen,” Strange is saying, and his voice is frayed. Tony shuffles closer, pressing against the wound. Strange lets out a small wince at it. “Listen,” he says again, “I might not make it out, Tony.” 

“You can’t say that.” 

“I can. I’m not afraid of death, Tony, I’ve—always known the risks, going in,” he says, “I estimate twenty minutes.”

“I was going for half an hour.” 

“Well, one of us is a little less optimistic and a little more pragmatic.” 

Despite it all, Tony snorts. “Always gotta be an asshole,” he says, shaking his head, “even half an hour to death’s door.” 

Strange tries a laugh, but ends up wincing in pain. “Twenty minutes,” he repeats, “I… lost quite a lot of blood.” 

“You should’ve fucking said something.” 

“Yeah. I… might not have realised how bad… until it was too late,” Strange replies, and there’s a sleepy slur in his voice that jolts Tony. 

“Hey, hey, come on, no, you gotta stay awake. Let’s just—let’s talk about shit, okay? I oughta say something stupid soon, you are gonna want to be awake to hear it.” 

“You’re not.” 

“What?” 

“You’re not stupid. You’re one of the most brilliant men I know.”  

“Jesus, you really are dying, huh?” 

Strange laughs again, and at first Tony thought it was a choke or some sort of convulsive cough or something far more concerning. But his laugh, strained with pain as it is, sounded… warm. 

“Yeah, no, I’m brilliant and I know it. Genius, playboy, billionaire, philanthropist, remember? Part of the package.” 

“Yes,” Strange slurs. 

“Hey, stay awake. You wanna know a story? I can talk about that one birthday party where I got completely obliterated because I ran a bet with this guy, told him I can drink him under the table, right? Now at this point I’ve built up quite the tolerance, that’s kind of what getting yourself sloshed every other night does to you, so I was pretty confident. But here’s the thing about trying to drink a literal viking under the table, you fucking can’t. Pretty sure this guy can hold his liquor better than even Thor.” He laughs. “I woke up in the morning under a table with various articles of clothing around me. It’s not as bad as some of the other guys in the party, all of us were just draped against various furniture in various states of undress—pretty sure one guy was literally half naked and fell asleep hugging a houseplant—but I still had to be in a board meeting that morning, so I showed up late looking predictably like something the cat dragged in, and then immediately tried to bury, sporting the hangover of the goddamn century.”

Strange attempts what could’ve been a soft snort of sorts, but instead only manages a short gust of breath. “Idiot.” 

“I thought we’ve established that I am in fact a genius.” 

“Those two things can coexist. You are brilliant, but you can also be so…” Strange trails off.

“Hey, no, stay with me now. Stephen. Come on.” 

“Yes. ‘M awake. I… What’s happening?” 

“I was telling you a story about that time I tried to drink a viking under the table.” 

“Mm. Viking. Interesting.” 

“Yep. Now you tell me a story about a wild birthday party. You ever got one of those?” 

“Not really.” 

“Come on, never partied so hard you woke up on the floor in just your underwear?” 

“Not on my birthday, no.” 

“Fair enough.” 

“I never celebrated my birthdays,” Strange admits. “Never did since I was little. Eugene thought they were frivolous.” 

Tony just watches him. Is he just imagining it, or is Strange getting paler and paler by the minute? His face is stretched white across his cheekbones. Fuck, they’ve got to find them soon. Any time now. “Who’s Eugene?” 

“Eugene is… nobody. Forget it,” he says, “Tell me… another story.” 

“Right, okay,” Tony says, racking his brain. “Another story. Uh. Well.” 

“I… don’t think I can… stay conscious for long…” 

“No, hey, come on, don’t sleep on me now. Come on, Stephen.” 

“I… can’t. I can’t.”

“Yes you can.” 

“Tony,” Strange is saying, “Tony, I… I need to tell you. Before it’s too late, I need…” 

“Tell me what? Come on, what is it?” 

“I’ve always thought… Always thought you…” 

“That I what? Always thought I had a nice ass? Come on, I know you check me out from time to time. Admit it, you’ve got the hots for me, wizard.” 

“No,” he says, voice fading a little. “No, it’s… more than that. I’ve always thought you were… were…” 

“Stephen,” Tony says, desperate. 

“I’ve always thought you were beautiful…” 

His eyelids finally flutter close, and his head can’t stay upright anymore, lolling to the side and rolling over his shoulder. 

“Stephen? Fuck! Stephen, don’t do this, don’t fucking do this to me, fuck—” He grabs ahold of Strange’s shoulders and shakes them, who cares if it hurts, and he realises he is shouting in panic but also in rage and frustration, because why now? He thought they had all the time in the world, why now? “No! Stephen, come on! No, no no no! Fuck you! You didn’t just fucking—” 

He tries desperately to feel for a pulse, where is it, why can’t he find it, and he presses close to feel his breath, but there is nothing but stillness. There is a distant roar, some hoarse animal cry, and he realises it is his own scream, wrenched out of his throat, crashing against the walls around them, crumbling the rocks and shaking the foundations of the cave, only then he realises there is light, blessed bright light as the ceiling suddenly tears off above them, familiar faces hovering near and nearer. They’ve been found, but it’s too late, it’s no use— 

He is slicing through the sky at breakneck speed not a second later, using whatever reserves of power is left of the suit, Stephen’s body clutched tight against his chest and the cloak a flurry of red around them both. 

—

Stephen had been patched up in the Medbay after the battle, and he hadn’t been lying about the blood loss, and the wound was a horrible thing that tore through his flesh and would surely scar, but he came out alive and that is all that really matters. He also attended the mission debrief they had about two days later, Wong at his side, even though he’s pretty sure Stephen shouldn’t even be out of bed and not resting. 

And the debrief went like always, Steve droning on about incredibly boring, do-gooding shit he only keeps half an ear on and both sorcerers chiming in on how best to deal with future interdimensional breaches, then the occasional input from other members. Tony said his part and tried not to stare, he really did, but then suddenly his eyes strayed to the side against his will, and they had met Stephen’s, and he realised Stephen had been watching him, too, and it was that look. He couldn't unknow that look. They were the same watchful eyes as the ones that looked straight at him in that cave, the same ones that he looked at as Stephen spoke those gently rasped words. 

I’ve always thought you were beautiful. 

And somebody must’ve called Stephen’s name, then, because the man turned his head away and never looked back. 

So that was that. Whatever had happened, whatever things Stephen meant to say to him, they were left in that cave with the rocks and the dark. They never brought it up again, and suddenly everything went back to the way they were before, and really, what had he even been expecting? What had he thought would happen, afterwards? 

But then Friday comes, and it’s his birthday, and every year he wonders how it is that he’s still alive after a lifetime of constantly working against that. Well, he’s not the only one actively knocking at death’s door, apparently. 

He’s embarrassed to admit he spends the first few hours of the evening watching the front door, waiting for a familiar dark head with streaks of grey. Will he even come? Tony had invited him, but the sorcerers aren’t really the type to hang around with them much. Stephen hardly ever shows up at team gatherings, even if he had been invited. But still, there is a part of Tony that holds out hope that he’ll show up. 

And he does. 

Bringing balloon animals with him. 

It is cradled in a pile in his arms, little dogs and cats and horses and snakes, squeaking as they slide against each other. Tony can’t help it, he laughs, hard and long, because god if that isn’t such a ridiculous sight, and Stephen is balancing them all precariously with a pleased look on his face, he must have involved some magic or something, and Wong’s face, oh god Wong’s face, he’s looking at Stephen like he’s resigned to this fate of being publicly embarrassed every time he brings Stephen out to literally anywhere, and Tony just can’t stop laughing, he is in tears by the end of it.

The balloon animals are shared evenly to everyone in the party, and finally Stephen presents Tony with a little red dog. “Happy birthday,” he says. Tony grins as he accepts it, and Stephen grins back. 

Then the evening goes on, and Tony plays his part as the host, laughing and talking and sipping occasionally at his drink. At some point he loses sight of Stephen, excuses himself and extracts from his group, and finds the man standing out in the balcony. 

“There you are,” he says as he slides the balcony door shut. “Thought you left. Was quite the entrance you made there. Thought you said balloon animals aren’t your specialty.” 

“I may have learnt a spell or two.” 

“Yeah, you must know a heckton of weird spells. Hey, I’ve got some magic tricks up my own sleeve. Ever opened a bra one-handed? Enough practice from sneaking in the back of movie theaters.” 

Stephen snorts. 

“So anyway,” Tony says, leaning on the railing with him. He considers the man. Lowers his voice. “You remember it all, then?” 

Stephen turns to look at him, then, and those eyes. Tony can’t help but be a little mystified by them, sometimes. They’d catch against the light, and the colours would shift, and nothing in the world is quite like them. He searches them, and Stephen’s face is open, and there is something in that look, something he wants to believe, and he’s sure he’s got the same look all over his own face. 

“In the cave,” Tony says, then stops. He could say a million things here. He could say, what did you mean? Or even, I can’t look at you the same way after that, I couldn’t unsee the look in your eyes, couldn’t forget them. Or maybe, did you mean it? You called me beautiful. I don’t know why. You called me beautiful, even though you are the most beautiful person I’ve ever laid my eyes on. But instead he says, “You said you’ve always known the risks, going in. What did you mean?” 

“What did I…” Stephen frowns, appearing to have a hard time remembering. And then, “Oh,” he says. “Well, I just meant that…” He tilts his head a little in thought, seems to be considering his words. “When I learned the Mystic Arts, I did it with the expectation of… fixing myself. But I was faced with a choice, which was that I either get my life back, or I fight to defend our reality, and become a sorcerer of Kamar Taj. And I knew choosing the latter would be putting myself in the line of defense against reality’s worst enemies. That’s what I meant. It’s not so different from you putting on the suit.” 

“Yeah, well.” And he doesn’t really know what else to say. “Maybe. I mean, it’ll get us all eventually, anyway.” 

“Death, you mean?” 

“Yeah. Pretty dark conversation we’re having here, about death and all. Considering it’s my birthday party. We should go back to balloon animals.” 

Stephen chuckles a little, and it is this rumbling, soft sound that makes something seize in Tony’s chest a little. He is reminded of the cave again, Stephen’s weak attempts at a laugh, remembers how it sounded… warm. It sounds warm. 

“Death is…” Stephen says, and now those eyes look far away. “...not unfamiliar to me.” 

“How do you mean?” 

“Well, it gets boring after the first or second time.” 

“Do I even want to know?” 

“Nope. You’re right, let’s go back to the balloon animals.”  

Tony’s the one to laugh this time, and Stephen watches him. There is a crinkle at the edges of those eyes, a wry tilt of his lip, and Tony is struck with the sudden need to kiss it, because all he can think of is how beautiful Stephen looks, like this. How beautiful this man is. 

I’ve always thought you were beautiful. 

“Fuck it,” he murmurs, and dives forward. He kisses Stephen hard and inelegantly, and Stephen makes this soft noise in the back of his throat that sends a jolt of something down his spine, and lower still. Stephen is kissing back. Tony twines his fingers into the hair at the back of his head, tilting it just so, and Stephen seems to like that, seems to kiss him deeper—

“Hey, when can we slice the cake? Come on, Tones, everyone’s— Jesus,” Rhodey says as the balcony door slides open. 

“Fucking hell, Rhodey,” Tony whips his head to him. 

“Woah, sorry. I mean, about time, anyway, right?” Rhodey smirks, hands up in surrender. He winks. “Go get ‘em, tiger.” And then he disappears behind the door, sliding it firmly shut. They both stare at it, silent. 

“Well.” 

Then suddenly Stephen bursts into laughter, and Tony joins him, and well, what do you know. Turns out this is definitely one of his best birthdays. 

[airas-story]

Tony doesn’t realize he has feelings for Stephen because he never actually considered it as a possibility. Once he does consider it, whether on his own or due to outside influence, the love hits him like a nuclear bomb.

This one did NOT go the way I thought it would when I first read this prompt.

“What did that flower ever do to deserve being ripped apart?” Stephen asked, voice sounding concerned as he settled across the table from him. Of course Stephen had been the one to find him post-date.

Tony shrugged half-heartedly. “I got Kaley flowers,” Tony said. He gestured at the flowers in the vase on the table and the one currently losing its petals to his sullen mood.

“I take it she didn’t appreciate them,” Stephen noted.

Tony glared down at the petal. “She was disappointed they weren’t jewelry.” He sighed, rubbing at his eyes. What was even the point anymore? “So I took her to Kay’s.” Nice, but definitely not the pricey place Kaley had been hoping for. “Got her a necklace. Took her home. Told her to have a nice life.”

Stephen didn’t answer immediately. Tony refused to look up and see the pity that had to be there. “I’m sorry,” Stephen finally said, voice quiet.

“It is what it is,” Tony said, he waved the flower at Stephen, still not looking at him. “I asked the flowers. You know, that stupid ‘she loves me, she loves me not’?” He wrinkled his nose. “I’m on flower three and it has so far been a resounding ‘not’.”

“Do you love her?” Stephen asked.

Tony stared at the flower, picking another petal off. “No,” he finally said. “But I had hoped maybe I could have.” He shrugged. “But I didn’t. Guess I never will.” He finished picking off the petals on the poor daisy and automatically reached for another one. “You know what the worst part is? I’m not sure what I want more, for someone to love me or to fall in love again. I just… There’s something about being in love that I just… I miss.”

“Sometimes falling in love is like falling asleep,” Stephen said quietly. “You don’t know it’s happened until you wake up.”

How poetic. “Or maybe I’ve forgotten how to fall in love.” He snorted, picking a petal. “Maybe I should ask the flower that, if I’m capable of falling in love again.”

“You can ask,” Stephen said. “But I can save you the time. You are.”

Tony finally looked up. “Then why haven’t I?”

“Maybe you have,” Stephen said. “You just haven’t woken up to it, yet.”

The words made no sense. “What?”

Stephen watched him for a long moment, then reached for his own daisy. “He loves me,” he said, picking a petal. “He loves me not.”

Tony snorted. “Stephen, you’re my best friend. Obviously I love you.”

“He loves me,” Stephen continued. “He loves me not.”

“Best. Friend,” Tony repeated, now laughing.

“He’s in love with me,” Stephen corrected. “He loves me not.”

Tony stared at him, confused and baffled and so very fond. “Stephen, what are you—” he didn’t know how to finish the sentence. “If I did—” He searched for the right words as Stephen continued picking petals. “You’re my best friend,” he repeated. “I can’t be in love with you.”

Stephen just arched an eyebrow, picked another petal. “He’s in love with me,” another petal picked. “He loves me not.”

He wasn’t, was he? He couldn’t be, because if he fell in love with Stephen and he messed it up then he’d lose Stephen and Stephen was his best friend. He couldn’t lose Stephen who could always make Tony smile. Who Tony wanted to make smile in return. Who Tony missed when he wasn’t around. Who Tony… 

Who Tony was in love with.

Stephen held up the flower with one petal left as he finished. “Well, look at that. He’s in love with me.”

Tony stared. He fell back in his seat, running a hand over his face. “Holy hell,” he said. “I’m in love with you.”

“I know.”

Obviously. Though how? He looked up at Stephen. “I’m in love with you,” he repeated.

Stephen smiled. “You know, you can have both, right?”

“Both?” Tony asked, still reeling, not sure how to react and completely lost as to what Stephen meant.

“You can have someone love you and you can fall in love again.”

“I love you,” Tony repeated, then followed the words to the natural conclusion. “And you love me.”

Stephen waved at the flower in Tony’s hand. “Why don’t you ask the flower?”

Tony suspected he didn’t have to, he already knew the answer.

[infiniteeight8]

Can we get the next part of amulet Stephen?

Absolutely! 😀

Previous parts in the series can be found here: https://archiveofourown.org/series/5088431 (I uploaded all of them, even though I’m behind on other ficlet uploads.)

-

Tony has taken to keeping Strange on his bedside table while he sleeps, but the amulet—the man? is that more accurate regardless of his current shape?—doesn’t usually speak until Tony has dressed and settled in with his coffee. 

This morning, Tony has barely gotten his eyes open when Strange announces, “I’m ready.”

Tony doesn’t have to ask for what. “Lemme get my coffee,” he says muzzily, rolling out of bed.

“I have started a pot brewing,” JARVIS announces. 

Tony throws on a t-shirt and a pair of jeans and hangs Strange around his neck. He’s at home, it’s not like anyone is going to see him, and it’s convenient. Strange says nothing, but Tony swears he can feel him vibrating with impatience. He’s barely got the full mug in his hand before Strange says, “Well?”

“I believe I have already identified Strange’s… former self,” JARVIS announces.

“How?” Strange demands. Tony takes a sip to lower the level of coffee in the mug and heads down to his lab.

“I believe it will be clear when I show you,” JARVIS says. He’s not normally so cryptic.

“All right, let’s see it,” Tony says when they get into the lab.

The displays light up with an array of photographs and a couple of files. “May I present Doctor Stephen Strange.”

Strange is quiet for a moment. “That’s it,” he murmurs eventually. “That’s me. I… I recognize me. I remember me.” Then he snorts. “I told you Strange was my name.”

Tony frowns at the file. “JARVIS, this guy is still active. He completed a surgery yesterday. How could he be working as a surgeon and hanging around my neck as an amulet at the same time?”

“The same way I could be familiar with technology from 2003 despite being locked in a box from 1990 to 2010,” Strange says. “Time travel. He,” despite his inability to gesture, Strange clearly meant the Stephen Strange who was still working as a neurosurgeon, “is on his first trip through this timeline. I’m on my second.”

Tony blows out a breath. “I’d like to argue with you. But it answers a lot of questions.”

“And raises several more,” Strange says.

“Understatement,” Tony mutters. What had happened to his body? Why had he come back in time? Had he completed that task already, or not? The fact that he’d been forgotten in a box for twenty years suggested he’d completed it, but they didn’t know. Which made the most important question, when had he come back from?

Because whatever sent Strange back in time, it couldn’t have been good.

[airas-story]

Tony gets physically hurt by another man and Stephen comforts him with cuddling and soft words? (Pre-relationship)

I'm going to put this one under the cut. It's not at all explicit, but it does mention (a recent) past physical abuse within a relationship.

“Sorry I’m late,” Stephen said as he stepped through the portal into Tony’s living room for movie night.

Tony grinned at him, though there was something strangely off about it. “All good. Luckily for you, our super fancy dinner of chicken nuggets haven’t gone cold.” Tony headed towards the couch, large plate of chicken nuggets with several dips in hand.

Stephen joined him, sighing as the fifth Tremors movie popped up on the screen. He absolutely did not want to finish this series, but Tony insisted.

They ate as the movie started and Stephen laughed as Tony jumped as a worm exploded out of the ground and had to wipe dip from his cheek where he’d smeared it. Stephen’s laugh cut off when more than the dip wiped off.

On Tony’s cheek was a bruise, previously covered by makeup. Tony never bothered to cover fight induced bruises. “What is that?” he asked, voice coming out sharper than he intended. Tony looked confused and Stephen hesitated before gently reaching out to touch Tony’s cheek. “Someone hurt you,” he said. His mind raced through the options. “Was it Jones?” he asked. Tony’s boyfriend had always given off the impression of being ‘good-natured’ but he got sharp sometimes, possessive.

Tony froze.

“Tony?” Stephen prodded gently. “Was it Jones?”

Tony looked away. “Don’t worry about it. It won’t happen again,” he said, tone wooden. “I ended things.”

The words brought a modicum of relief, but not enough. “It still happened,” Stephen said softly. “Are you okay?”

“It happened once. I ended things. It won’t happen again,” Tony repeated.

Good, but not the point. “That doesn’t mean you’re okay.”

“I’ve taken hits before, Stephen.” Tony finally looked at him, a lost look in his eyes. “Jones isn’t exactly on par with the average supervillain.”

“The average supervillain isn’t your boyfriend,” Stephen said quietly. “When they hit you, it isn’t a betrayal.” He met Tony’s gaze. “Tony, are you okay?”

Something flickered in Tony’s eyes. “How didn’t I see it?” he finally asked, tone agonized. “I was blind for so long, let people hurt and use me, but I’ve learned, haven’t I? I swore I wouldn’t let it happen anymore.”

Stephen hesitated, not sure how to react, but Tony hadn’t flinched from his touch earlier. He gently pulled Tony into a soft embrace. “It’s not your fault,” Stephen murmured. “It is never your fault for trusting someone who acts like they care,” he told Tony quietly. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Jones did.”

Tony shuddered before he collapsed against Stephen. “Who am I supposed to trust?” Tony whispered. “Why can’t I get this right?”

There weren’t always good answers to questions like that. “It’s not your fault,” Stephen reminded him. “It will never be your fault.” He tightened his embrace. “For what it’s worth, I’ll never hurt you.” He knew right now Tony might not fully believe it, but he’d need to hear the words regardless. “It’s not your fault,” Stephen repeated again. “I promise.”

[orenjis-205]

Silly thing i made

[kittyswritingcorner]

break of dawn

Summary:

Ruh roh! Stephen has a little meltdown in bed. What now?

Word Count: 4,429

Rating: E

Characters/Relationships: Tony Stark/Stephen Strange

Tags: Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Stephen Strange Needs a Hug, Gentle Sex, Flashbacks, Stephen Strange Has PTSD, Vulnerability, Scars

A/N: Fill for day 2 of @febuwhump 2026, prompt: old injury. Many thanks to the two best betas a writer could ever ask for, and two incredible, infinitely supportive friends whom I love and adore, @harpywritesfic and @janora00! 💖 Jumps riiiight into action (wink wink) so putting everything under the cut.

AO3

“Fuck, you gorgeous thing—” 

Tony makes quick work of yanking Stephen’s shirt up over his arms, and they are more or less half naked now, or at least getting there, but it’s proving exponentially harder to focus the longer Tony keeps his mouth on Stephen’s—and that in addition to Tony’s better dexterity than his, Stephen is left a little less clothed than him. He had wondered for some time what kind of kisser Tony would be, and wasn’t quite surprised to find out that he is in fact a great one at that, given his reputation, but he didn’t quite calculate to what extent that went. 

Tony kisses ferociously. He kisses Stephen with this violent sort of hunger, completely taking charge of his mouth and sending all thoughts out of his head except for the delicious feel of that tongue slip-sliding over his. The word he’s looking for is intense. It’s intense, being kissed by Tony Stark—and that is another thing, the way they are kissing each other but it feels like Tony is kissing him, in the sense that the action has a direct object, that it is very much a transitive verb, that Stephen is receiving the act, that Tony is kissing him and he is being kissed by Tony—and Stephen is sure he can get off on it alone. 

Insofar as they’re concerned, this is the farthest they’ve ever really gone, in the past two weeks, besides the hormone-fueled make out sessions and a bit of the occasional groping. The most they’ve done during this… whatever the right word is to call what they are to each other—prior to this moment—has just been some desperate fumbling, mostly clothed besides their dicks sticking out while they literally ate each other’s faces off, humping each other like labradors in heat, like it was high school all over again. Though he wouldn’t know about that—he hadn’t ever felt quite this way with anyone in the scant sexual encounters he’s had as a young Nebraskan boy stumbling into pubescence, though he couldn’t speak for Tony. They hadn’t really shared much in the way of their sexual experience and history with each other, on account of the fact that they’d been too busy climbing down each others’ throats any chance they got. No matter, Stephen often thought, they’d work their way around it soon enough. 

And then there’s now. 

The going full naked, that is a first. He doesn’t exactly know how they get from point A to point B, but one second they’re stumbling through the doorway of Tony’s bedroom, ripping each other’s clothes off, mouths holding onto each other like lifelines, and the next, he’s being pushed back against the pillows of Tony’s obscenely large bed. Damn billionaires, with their ridiculously soft pillows and beds big enough to fit the entirety of Texas. 

He can feel the hard jut of Tony’s erection through those trousers—and holy mother of Christ, who the hell are his tailors, and he better have paid them generously because dear lord did those trousers do favours for the man’s ass—pressing against his hip. He can feel his own hardness straining against his jeans. Tony is wedging a hand between them, draping that glorious body of his over Stephen’s and pressing him down, fumbling with Stephen’s zipper. 

Stephen isn’t quite as successful in his own attempts in getting Tony naked, he’s realising now as Tony starts pushing a hand down Stephen’s crotch, rubbing over his briefs and pulling a restrained groan out of him—but manages to pull Tony’s shirt off with clumsy, trembling hands. 

“Get these clothes off you,” Tony says hoarsely, tugging his jeans and underwear down around his thighs—Stephen kicks them off impatiently. 

Too late he remembers the scar that lives underneath; a distinct, crescent scar that dug itself into the flesh of his hip, spanning from the jut of his pelvis and curving down, just skimming past the edge of his underwear’s hem. It is an ugly, gnarly thing, easily hidden by his usual robes, but there is virtually no way to subtly conceal it now, even in the room’s dim lighting. He has the front row seat in watching Tony’s reaction as he notices it, his smile dying at the sight of it. The man just stares, and Stephen can’t bear to see the look in his eyes. He has to shut his own momentarily at the slamdunk of utter shame that floods him, lips thinning. 

“It’s fine,” he says after a while, as if Tony asked, fumbling to pull the blankets over to cover himself with trembling hands. 

“Hey, no,” Tony says, “Let me. It’s okay.” 

Tony eases those hands away and slowly pulls the blanket off, then takes a moment to admire his thighs. Slowly, almost as though telegraphing his intent, he lowers his head down and plants a wet kiss over the raised skin that sends a shiver all up and down his body. Then all of a sudden there is a tongue dragging itself over it and— 

“No,” Stephen gasps, scrambling away. He turns his head to the side in shame, not wanting to look at Tony’s face. He is gripping the sheets, he realises. It’s just that—the warmth of that tongue felt not dissimilar to when his skin had been sliced, that time, and for a vertiginous moment he had been back in the Dark Dimension, standing before Dormammu’s fiery head as he rained torture upon Stephen over and over again. His breathing is not quite right. 

“Hey,” Tony says, in a tone that sounds like he’s talking to a skittish horse. “Hey, easy there, gorgeous.” 

“I—” Stephen is saying, and he hears it but he can’t quite feel the words leaving through his numb lips, “I’m sorry.” 

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Tony murmurs earnestly, and he is watching Stephen now. Cautious. He doesn’t put a hand on him, instead hovering over Stephen with grave eyes. “This still okay?” 

“I—” Stephen swallows. “Just—” 

“Shh, it’s okay,” Tony says, “It’s okay. We don’t need to keep going, if you don’t want to.” 

The thing is, he does. He does want to. His traitorous cock had somehow survived through that whole… whatever that was that had happened, standing at half mast. One glance at Tony’s own groin tells him Tony’s own cock hasn’t gotten any less excited, either. 

Tentatively, Tony reaches a hand to skim lightly over his cheekbones, eyes watching him closely for every reaction. “Do you want to stay?” 

Stephen swallows past the tightness of his throat. He wills the quick thud thud thud of his heart to calm, keeping his breaths even. “Yes,” he says. 

“We don’t have to do anything,” Tony assures. 

“No, I—I want to. Keep going, I mean.” 

A slight quirk of his lips, and then Tony says, “Okay. We’ll go slow.” He dives down to press a kiss at the edge of Stephen’s lips, so Stephen turns and meets it. A callused hand feels up and down his arm, another gently placed over his nape to pull him closer. Experimentally, Stephen presses forward, kissing harder, and his response is equivalent; Tony presses back and returns the kiss in equal measure. Interesting. 

They’re beginning a slow grind now, and Stephen quietly asks, “Your pants,” to which Tony nods and pulls them off, so they’re both naked. He works a hand between them both, lines their cocks together and begins a steady stroke. The kissing starts again, heated but just teasing along the edges of it, carrying substantially less intensity than when they first started. He can hear the rasp of Tony’s breathing, and knows that his own is ragged. They’re being so quiet. Stephen nearly breaks the silence with a particularly loud gasp, but he buries it instead into the crook of Tony’s neck, driving his hips up desperately. 

“Close,” Stephen murmurs, a thread of sound. 

“Me too,” Tony whispers tightly. The eye contact alone is such an erotic thing, the way Tony keeps his eyes on Stephen the whole way through like nothing else is worth his attention. At first Stephen thought it must be because he wants to make sure they don’t get a repeat of earlier, but now he’s not so sure. There is something else in those brown eyes, as they watch him, something he can’t quite put his finger on. 

His orgasm, when it comes, is slow and lasts for eternities. It completely unstrings him, the way it milks him dry, every pulse of cum drawing out of him until his balls are empty. He can only gasp and writhe and shiver through it. Tony husks a quiet “Fuck,” above him before he jerks once, twice, and tumbles over the edge, groaning low in his throat. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he says, droopy eyes meeting his before those lips are back again, kissing breathlessly. 

Tony wipes them down with the blanket, and slowly folds Stephen into him, and they lay there in post-coital bliss together. He must fall asleep, then, because he remembers nothing more that night. 

—

Stephen wakes at dawn. He drifts there in not-quite-slumber, memories of last night slowly trickling back into his brain. He doesn’t know how long he lays there until the body beside him stirs, and suddenly sleepy eyes are blinking awake, blearily turning to him. Those eyes are watching again, like they had just last night.

Being watched by Tony Stark is not something to be taken for granted. The man has the attention span of a guppy; you would think he isn’t absorbing the amount of minute details he does, at the rate he does, what with the way his eyes would flit all around the room, never staying on one thing for too long. But to have all of that focus honed solely on you? It isn’t something Stephen should be taking for granted at all. 

After a while he gets up to retrieve something in his bag shoved in the other side of the room, taking his time rummaging around. He returns to the side of the bed, feeling Tony’s eyes on him as he sets two bottles of pills on the bedside table. He sits on the rumpled sheets.

“The zoloft is a garden variety antidepressant,” he explains when he can find his voice again. “The klonopin is—it’s for regulating… controlling certain… responses. Short-circuits the neural pathways that re-insert your brain in… trauma response,” he continues steadily, keeping his voice level and intent. Tony is just looking at him. Stephen doesn’t quite know where to put his eyes. “I have good days and bad days. Some days it’s easier to control these responses than others. But I—” he swallows, “But I... I know I should’ve told you earlier. I understand if this changes things. I understand if…” and he trails off. 

Tony is still just looking at him. 

After a while, Tony gets up, and leaves Stephen sitting there. He wants to say, wait, I know what this looks like, I know you think you’re dating a crazy person, but I promise I’m not that fucked in the head, but that would be a lie. He wants to say, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier, I would’ve if I had the chance, the right opportunity to, but that would be a lie, too. 

This must be the last push for Tony. This must be the last of the line of things to convince him why dating Stephen Strange is the mother of all bad ideas, why he should probably stay away from him for the rest of his life, or at least keep a good five mile radius from him at all times. The silence behind him is Tony silently putting his clothes back on, zipping up his pants, saying, Hey so maybe the next time you want to get in somebody’s pants, you should tell them they’re sleeping with some headcase who might have a goddamn meltdown over your boner first. 

But then not a moment later Tony has returned, and he brought something with him. He must have been rummaging through his own bag earlier, while Stephen let himself spiral through all the worst assumptions. 

He set a bottle of klonopin pills, half empty, right beside his own on the nightstand. He slowly comes to a crouch between Stephen’s knees and watches him watch the bottles of pills. 

“Oh,” is what eventually comes out of his mouth, which is probably a very inadequate response, but he really could not come up with anything quite more eloquent at the moment. Tony gives him a sort of fond, rueful smile, but it’s far from a happy one. It looks almost sad. A hand settles on one of his knees now and rubs the bare skin there with a gentle thumb. 

“Does this change anything?” Tony asks, barely above a whisper. 

“What?” 

“About what you think of me. Does this change anything?” 

“No,” Stephen says firmly, “No, of course not.” 

“Good,” Tony nods decidedly, and his voice matches Stephen’s now. “Because it changes nothing about how I think about you, either. It changes nothing about how I feel about you. It changes nothing about us. Do you hear me?” 

Stephen swallows again, nodding slowly. “...Yes,” he manages through a suddenly tight throat. 

Tony is still watching him, just quietly observing, then takes one of his trembling hands in the two of his and holds it to his bare chest, where the arc reactor had been. He could see the small, angry lines of his hands against the small, angry lines on Tony's chest, see the history written there, see that this is a part of them, a kind of pain that is only theirs. 

“We all carry our scars, Stephen,” Tony says, and his tone of voice is this low, soothing timbre that Stephen used to think is patronising, like Tony is pitying him, which angered him greatly, but he has come to learn that it is anything but that. It is in fact some cocktail of a couple other things; some peculiar kind of sorrow, for one thing, some kind of deep empathy you reserve to those you care for the most. A sort of understanding, for another. And, lurking somewhere in the corners is a gentle, amused exasperation. Like this is something Tony is fondly exasperated about him, come to expect from him. It is possible the name of this tone of voice is love. 

“It’s what makes us who we are,” Tony continues, and Stephen lays his palm flat against the plane of Tony’s broad chest, lets himself caress the scarred skin. “This?” Tony nods his head at the pills, “This changes nothing about us. For better or for worse, it is a part of us, and not one we can change. This is not something you can magically fix. This is not something that needs fixing,” Tony raises Stephen’s trembling hand, the one he is holding, and kisses his open palm, holds it there as he murmurs, “There is nothing wrong about you—about this—as much as there is nothing wrong about me.” 

“Well,” Stephen murmurs back, “There is something a little wrong about me.” 

Tony laughs quietly behind his hand, and there is that fondness again. The sound of love. It is possibly the loveliest sound he’s ever heard in the world, Tony’s laugh. It is nothing that should exist in this universe, the sheer beauty of it. 

“Then that makes the two of us,” Tony smirks. 

Truth be told, when he first got into therapy, he thought it would be some magical all-cure for everything that is wrong with him. Like his therapist somehow had an arsenal of ways to fix him right up, like finding Kamar Taj and learning the Mystic Arts was like. Well, sort of, anyway. 

He had this mental image of him being rolled into surgery, his therapist carving out his skull and considering his brain, the inner workings of it, digging her expert hands inside to scoop out all the grim and dark and awful things that make him so fucked in the head. All the long, inky black, stringy substances of it, pulled out of him with a pair of forceps and expertly cut out with a scalpel. And then when it all has been surgically removed from his body like a cancer he would wake up in a hospital bed feeling more normal, more human than he had ever been, surrounded by all the people he loves, massive grins on their faces as they say, “You’re fine now, you’re okay, you’re all cured, we love you,” and that would be the fairy tale happy ever after ending.

But as it turns out, reality is not so simple, even in a world where magic exists. As it turns out, his therapist is as much a human as everyone else, as much a human as he. Her degree in psychology does not give her the godly abilities to suddenly disappear all his problems or bend reality to his convenience. She just has the means to help him out, cheering him on by the bleachers. Or coach him, really, as he fucks up the game that is his life. 

And Tony was right when he said the thing about there being no magical way to fix him. There is no cure to the things that make you who you are. There is no cure for being, despite everything, human, who falls and who breaks and who fucks up just like everyone else. 

“It was from Dormammu,” Stephen suddenly says. He thought maybe saying the name aloud again would do something, twist him down paths of darkness like it had last night even though Tony does not deserve a second episode of My Amazing Meltdown, but as it stands, he feels nothing. Nothing, as in the feeling of being devoid of all feelings. He feels numb, is all he can feel. “The scar, I mean.” 

“Dormammu,” Tony repeats, “Now that is a bad guy name. A real Dark Lord of Evil Ancient Darkness kind of name.” 

He snorts at that, and pauses here, and wonders if he is really going through with this. Not even Wong knows the whole of it, just the parts he gleaned from the way Stephen behaved or responded to certain things. And Vivian, bless her, she had only known the broad outlines of what happened from the few scattered sessions where he was even willing to talk about it. 

And now there’s Tony. Something about Tony makes it so easy to talk to him. Tony can easily bust through his carefully built walls like a raging bulldozer, trample all over the lines he draws on the ground that nobody passes. He can strip Stephen down to his bones, all his raw, vulnerable humanness on display, like nobody had done before. 

He has never thought he needed to let his guard down like this, never thought he’d find anyone he can trust to put all his defenses down and be completely, wholly, utterly himself with, whoever the Stephen Strange that lives inside of him is, underneath it all. Probably some mangled, twisted man. A lost cause. Some gruesome, gnarly nightmare of a being beyond human recognition, like one of those lovecraftian horrors he often fights that would spill out of interdimensional breaches. 

But Tony doesn’t seem to mind that one bit. 

So he tells the story of Dormammu, how he had been summoned by Kaecillius and his zealots and the kind of trouble that put them all through. He tells Tony about the first time he picked up the Eye, about the first time a man’s death was on his hands—not the first life lost because of him, but Donna is a story for another time—and what he doesn’t tell is how he had avoided walking through that hall where the body had been the first few weeks afterwards, or how he had had to wash off the bloodstains Master Drumm had left on the foyer. He tells Tony about taking on the mantle of the Master of the New York Sanctum, about the The Ancient One and her passing. He tells him about facing death in the eyes and striking a bargain with it. There are details he leaves out, about how his body had been broken and mangled and hurt and burnt and cut and tortured beyond repair, and then stitched painfully back together in one blinking second only to repeat the sequence over again in an agonizing loop. Instead he tells Tony about defeating death and saving the world from eternal darkness—you better be goddamn thankful for that, universe—and then about returning, and about Mordo. 

“Well that’s an asshole thing to do,” Tony tells him, when Stephen finishes the part where Mordo parted ways from them. He has been mostly quiet, listening to Stephen talk his way through everything in a halting, hesitant pace. “That’s not fair at all.” 

“I do understand where he’s coming from,” Stephen admits. “Mordo has… certain ideas about how things should be. About how the universe should be for it to work, and the means he has to take for it to be that way. Not unlike Kaecillius.” 

Tony just hums vaguely, either in understanding or acknowledgement or something else, he’s not quite sure. 

Stephen had maybe expected Tony would be the vocal kind of listener, who would pitch a comment or question or two while he talks, and had been entirely prepared for it even, but the man can in fact be completely silent like this, and Stephen knows behind those infinitely, infuriatingly keen eyes, he was quietly observing, too. And then there is the other thing lurking in the back of those eyes, the gentle thing he sometimes could not bear to look directly at, because it always makes his chest constrict a little. 

“But anyway. The hip. It’s… the worst of the scars left with me, after… the loop. The worst visible one, at least.” 

Tony hums again. “How’d you get it?” he murmurs. 

Stephen tries to remember that one. That is one of the array of new things he had to adjust to after the loop; remembering things. Before he had been able to rely on his photographic memory to store away important little details, but these days he hardly even remembers how he had started his day, how he even woke up that morning, or what he had done the first few hours afterwards, or even what he had done the previous days and weeks prior. Sometimes it would happen that he is doing something—the kind of thing you could do on autopilot like reading or cleaning or, in his case, practicing spellwork—and he would be completely absorbed in his work for a while before he would snap awake as if he had been asleep, and he would wonder where he is and what he is doing and how he even got there to begin with. There are entire chunks of the day that he would forget, entire chunks of his life he struggles to remember.

“I…” Stephen settles back a little awkwardly, considering his words. “I have… sense memories. I don’t remember how I got this scar, and I don’t really remember how I got most of my scars anyway—” except for his hands, which has always been a reminder of his past, who he was, who he would still be if he hadn’t been so goddamned stupid and reckless and selfish and— “but… Dormammu is creative in his ways to kill a man. To incinerate them quickly or to drag it out; flame, glass, strangulation, impalement, you name it. He never used the same methods in the same order, twice,” he explains.

Tony has fallen silent again, just looking at him with those watchful eyes. It’s funny, how long he had avoided looking directly in those eyes, when they had first met. He thought it was because they were infuriating eyes that belong to an even more infuriating man, but he knows the truth of it now; he had been afraid. He had known, in some capacity, that Tony attracted him, and the realisation of that had confused and scared him. He had never fallen for a man before, never felt so strongly about them, didn’t know that was even a possibility for him. But here he is, looking into the deep, magnificent eyes of the man that goes against everything he stands and believes in and is somehow so much like him in so many ways. Sometimes he swears he can see all the way to the back of those beautiful brown eyes. 

“Heterochemia,” Tony says after a while of this, just them staring into each other’s eyes. 

“What?” 

“Did you know your eyes do this thing where it shifts colours in different lighting?” 

“Well. Sort of. I mean, yes, I know. What does that have to do with…” 

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” Tony tells him, and Stephen’s breath catches a little. He was not expecting that. They are closer now. “And I just can’t imagine—I just can’t imagine why anything in the universe would want to destroy such a beautiful thing.” 

“You’re being objectifying. I’m more than just my looks,” he says, but the prickle of heat across his cheekbones is betraying him. Tony chuckles a little; that low, fond sound. Suddenly his jaw is being cradled by both of Tony’s hands, so gentle it makes the thing he had thought dead in his chest begin to ache and pound, and they are definitely, impossibly, much, much closer now. 

He thinks maybe Tony would say something more. Something brainlessly sweet and romantic or some other sappy thing he always seemed to be in endless supply of, but instead Tony just kisses him. 

If Dormammu had been like tasting death, this—Tony’s lips on his—this is like tasting life. There is life, living there in the corner of that mouth, and Stephen deepens their kiss to chase after it, to dig into it and find more. 

“Thank you,” Tony murmurs into his mouth when they part—or not quite part, with their lips still brushing each other, “for trusting me. For telling me this. But maybe next time, do it a little more clothed, because goddamn if you know how to distract a man. Not that I’m complaining.”

And somehow, then, life tastes so much sweeter.

[luluisoff]

yuri ironstrange

[airas-story]

https://www.tumblr.com/airas-story/801068203961958400/takes-place-aroundbefore-age-of-ultron-stephen

More of this pretty please? 😌

Sequel to one, two, three, and four.

Tony hadn’t entirely been sure what to expect when he’d brought Stephen into his penthouse. Almost the entirety of his interaction with Stephen had involved Stephen laying in his hospital bed. A part of Tony had expected, and maybe even worried, that Stephen would continue that trend, staying listless in the room Tony was providing him.

When he’d knocked on Stephen’s bedroom door and asked if he wanted to come join Tony for breakfast, Tony hadn’t actually expected a response, but Stephen had stared at him for a long, drawn-out moment before nodding, following Tony to the kitchen and eating the food Tony put in front of him. He’d even drank the coffee, though Tony had seen him grimace.

“Not a coffee drinker?” Tony asked.

Stephen shrugged.

“Is there something you prefer?”

Stephen looked down, playing with the mug handle. He looked back up, a frustrated look on his face, as though he wanted to answer but didn’t know how.

Tony wished rather desperately that Stephen felt comfortable speaking to a mental health specialist. They’d probably know how to help Stephen break through his silence—if that was what Stephen wanted—where Tony absolutely didn’t know how.

“Tea?” Tony asked, because statistically there were pretty high chances on that one.

A quirk of Stephen’s lips were a pretty good indication. “I’ll have JARVIS send you a list of teas,” Tony said. He’d already given Stephen a tablet and phone, though he suspected Stephen had no plans on using either. “You can tell him what you like.”

Stephen’s brow furrowed, but then gave a slight nod. Progress.

A lot more progress than Tony had expected, if he was honest. Stephen was up and moving, he’d eaten breakfast with only minimal prodding, and he was showing at least the slightest bit of intent on making a choice for himself—even if only in indicating what teas he liked. It did seem like evidence that it had been a good idea to get Stephen out of the hospital, though Tony still wasn’t sure that Stephen being with him was what was actually best for Stephen.

“I’m probably going to spend some time in the lab today,” Tony said. “But the penthouse is completely open to you. Whatever you want. Whatever you need.”

A flicker in Stephen’s eyes made Tony pause. It was clear that something about that suggestion had Stephen on edge. It would, Tony realized after a moment, be the first time Stephen was really alone. While there hadn't been someone in the hospital room at all times, there had still likely been a sense of omnipresence. 

“Or you can come to the lab,” Tony said. “But I’ll warn you it’s loud and probably boring.”

Stephen’s shoulders lost some tension.

Tony was going to take that as a yes.