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skits-things · 2 years ago

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Scarlet Savior

In light of the fact that ao3 is under a ddos attack and thus there is no expected eta for a fix, I've decided to put this fic in text form on tumblr, as well as the other prompt I wrote for @darkkitty1208. They also betaed this work. Also @ironstrangehaven in case you wanna reblog this, even though you already reblogged my ao3 link. Fic is under the readmore.

Summary:

It was supposed to be yet another invasion of the Earth. Stephen won’t ever understand what makes his world so attractive to invaders, but it should have been standard procedure. For once though, the inhabitants of the dimension seeking to conquer Earth didn’t merely attack rampantly.

The aftermath is abhorrent.

He despises the looks of pity that follow him around. The horror and morbid fascination of strangers. Even those exposed to the dangers of their way of life have a mere fraction of the marks on him. Trivial compared to his experiences.

The only other person with as much red on them is Deadpool, and no one expected different from the merc with a mouth. Even then, there’s the odd hole in his aura. A speck of his body that has somehow remained unscathed.

All anyone can see when they look at Stephen, is a blindingly bloody red.

Wong is the only one he can stand to be around nowadays. Two weeks after the nonsense and yet it seems like the staring won’t ever stop. Whether it’s the members of the Mystic Arts, the general populace, or the so-called champions from The Incident, Stephen feels their eyes like a drill to the Earth’s core.

His friend is generous enough to allow Stephen his sulking. None of them understood exactly what they were signing up for in The Incident. Every one of the participants were stripped and made vulnerable to their cores. Wong himself had more than his fair share of scarlet on his body.

It was merely unfortunate that Stephen turned out to be extraordinary in this way too.

The Sanctum alerts him to a visitor and he grimaces. The doors stay shut by sheer force of will, and his ill-timed guest only stays for a few minutes longer. Almost petulantly kicking the door on his way out.

The isolation of the library no longer feels like a safe haven from the world. Tony Stark has a way of making his presence felt, merely by reminding people of his existence. Stephen grabs his books and prepares to leave for his rooms, but stops short at the unimpressed look Wong levels at him.

“What?” Stephen snaps, irritated and perhaps a touch defensive.

Wong doesn’t say a word for a long minute. Stephen turns to leave, holding his books carefully in his arms. Usually his hands were able to give some support, but it was a bad day. Levi subtly curls underneath his arms to relieve some of the pressure.

“He’s not going to stop.” Wong says just as Stephen reaches the door. The words freeze him in place. “He’s been visiting every day since. Avoiding him is not going to solve anything.”

Stephen grits his teeth and whirls around, eyes alight with fury. “Then he should learn to mind his own business!”

Wong lowers his eyebrows a fraction, somehow appearing more disapproving than before. “He was there too, if you recall. The tournament-”

Stephen hisses, shoulders bunched up to his ears. “That was not a tournament. That farce could barely be considered combat.” And only because of how the other side defined the event.

A sigh rings through the room, long, deep and tired. It makes the part of Stephen that’s finally learned to care sit up and pay attention. A closer inspection of Wong has Stephen frown. He really hasn’t been aware of his surroundings lately. There was something almost disheveled about Wong’s appearance. Ties too loose, layers just slightly off. Lines of stress stretched his features tighter.

He purses his lips. He’s never been very good at showing concern. Stephen clicks his tongue. “How are you holding up?” Stephen throws back, almost carelessly.

“About as well as I can be.” Wong shakes his head. “If I’m ever able to get my hands on the person who botched that translation…”

Stephen snorts. The books shift in his arms and Levi pools more of itself underneath them. He adjusts to let the cloak take more of the weight. “You and everyone else there. Personally, I think some time in the Dark Dimension would do them some good.”

He stiffens immediately. His mouth ran faster than his thoughts, because once the words were out he couldn’t take them back. Wong pointedly tilts his head in Stephen’s direction. “That. That’s something you need to clarify with Stark. The man’s persistent. If you don’t take the initiative, he’s liable to do something drastic.”

Stephen glares at the floor, shoulders already inching back upwards. He doesn’t know when they even dropped. “I don’t see why he needs to know. I don’t see why anyone needs to know. It’s in the past.”

“Don’t be purposefully obtuse. You know why.”

Wong’s not wrong, but Stephen will deny it for as long as he can. It’s a mistake to flee from this conversation – Wong will get him back for this – but he could swear he was getting hives from it. It’s only in the safety of his own room that those hateful reminders hit home.

The worst part of this whole ordeal - more than the vulnerability, more than the lack of choice, more than even the kerfuffle of a choice of words causing this disaster - is that of everyone possible, the person closest to him at the time of The Incident was Tony.

His thoughts inevitably take a turn and, involuntarily, he remembers the day of The Incident.

The Impralians had superior numbers, firepower and technology. As much as Stephen hates to admit it, it was for the best that the Impralians also had the highest respect for champions of society. Or at least that’s how it was interpreted.

In the end, the governments of the world had agreed to send fighters to represent them for the right to remain unconquered. While the Earth might be able to find a way to survive regardless, millions of lives would have been lost from the confrontation. Everyone with even the slightest desire to increase the chances of victory showed up.

Only the best of the best were selected. As a warrior race with regenerative durability, there had to be enough heavy hitters to make an impact, but also a small enough number to remain manageable, as every fighter sent out would be matched with another enemy. The major media outlets practically went rabid and had their own tournament for the chance to broadcast the event to the world.

One hundred people were chosen to represent the Earth. Of those, ten were from Kamar Taj. The minimal number necessary to pull off some of the techniques that required multiple masters working together to accomplish.

Tony was among the number chosen. His intelligence and resourcefulness was determined to be an asset in the case of their enemy using unknown technology. Peter, thankfully, was not. Spiderman might be strong, smart and scrappy, but he also didn’t have many directly damaging methods of attack. When Spiderman was removed from the list of possible combatants, Stephen could see the disappointment on Peter’s face as clear as the relief on Tony’s face just behind him.

Though at least some of the ability to read the man came from time spent in proximity. After Thanos was defeated, Stark badgered Stephen until he threw his hands up and resigned himself to the man’s company. Somewhere along the line, Stark became Tony. It grew more difficult by the day not to slip up and reveal something from the fourteen million futures, but Stephen’s self control is impeccable. While the genius no doubt suspected something, Stephen was sure he had no clue just how intimately Stephen knew him.

And intimate is certainly the correct word to use. Stephen doesn’t blush easily, yet some of those futures slip past his iron grip and manage to throw him into a flustered mess.

They might have been treading the line towards something more between them in this future as well. After Tony and Pepper publicly broke off their engagement, Tony poured on the charm even more than he normally did just by being himself. Stephen was just starting to believe that their engagement was really over. That by some twist of fate, they might actually have a chance in this timeline.

Stephen fell in love with Tony Stark over and over and over again. In fourteen million different ways, but all leading towards the same end. Heartbreak.

There’s something about Tony that makes you want to put your trust in him. To take a chance. Stephen had bet the winning future on Tony’s ability to pull off a miracle with the right information and they succeeded. It made him want to take a chance on them too.

Fat chance of that happening now.

The biggest problem Stephen Strange ever has, is that he’s never quite sure what to do about his own emotions. Other people’s emotions, which he’s also terrible at handling, are easier to deal with than his own. At least their emotions are an outside factor he has to adjust for. His own responses to his emotions are limited to ignoring them or becoming an angry defensive mess. Christine could attest to that.

So when Stephen returns from a standard trip outside of their realm to handle a task only capable by the Sorcerer Supreme, it is, perhaps, not entirely unexpected that his reaction to Tony in his room is to spit out vitriol.

“Get out.” The words are packed with as much venom as Stephen can fit. He doesn’t look at the man, just moves swiftly past him towards his attached bathroom. The barest amount of care he can spare towards Tony is keeping his words short. Stephen’s well aware Tony doesn’t deserve being treated like this. That doesn’t stop him from doing so.

He never learns his lesson.

“Stephen.” The soft cradling whisper of his name pulls him up short. Back stiff, Stephen closes his eyes and internally curses the way he can feel them tear up. He knows if he opens them, the shine would be damning evidence.

“Stephen.” Tony repeats, and Stephen can hear him stepping closer until he can feel the warmth of his presence at his back. “Stephen, look at me. Please.”

He doesn’t want to. Stephen still vividly remembers the look on Tony’s face. A curse of his perfect memory. The horror and despair was on a level he hasn’t witnessed in any of the possible futures. He never wants to put that look on Tony’s face again.

In the end, he doesn’t move or say a word. But he also doesn’t move further away. Tony takes that as an invitation to wrap his arms round Stephen and press his face into the back of his neck.

“Alright, you don’t have to look at me if you don’t want to.” The pained lilt to Tony’s voice is nearly enough to make Stephen turn around. If he wasn’t so sure of the expression he would find on Tony’s face. If he saw the pity, Stephen would shatter like fine china.

��But let me apologize. I’m so, so incredibly sorry, Stephen. I shouldn’t have reacted like that.”

The bitter laugh is involuntary. “Like what then? You didn’t do anything that anyone else hadn’t.”

“And if I could I would have each and every one of them apologize too.” Tony swears with fierce protectiveness.

“Don’t.” Stephen shudders with something akin to pained resignation. “Everyone there was subjected to the same treatment. Your own horrors were put on display.”

Tony tightens his hold around him. “But no one else died countless times! No one else had an endless montage of suffering lasting over three weeks!”

“And what, that makes me entitled to special treatment?” Stephen hopes he manages to convey the sheer distaste he has at the thought. “Trauma isn’t comparable.”

“Yours was so bad it won us the victory by a landslide.” Tony counters and Stephen immediately tries to pull away. Tony’s grip manages to keep him in place. “Fuck. No. I shouldn’t have- Look, we’re clearly both terrible at this; just give me a moment.”

Stephen’s tempted to not, but then again, if at least some small part of him didn’t want to stay right here in Tony’s arms, he would have vanished long ago. The master of the Sanctum doesn’t have to be anywhere within it that he doesn’t want to be.

After a few minutes Tony says, “I pulled apart the platform the second I was given the green light. I might have bribed more than a few people to get permission for it too, but we don’t need to talk about that. I can’t pull the videos off the ‘net – infringing on too many human rights apparently – but there isn’t a monument to your pain on display anymore.”

The words fill Stephen with more relief than he thought himself capable of feeling. In exchange for a numbers disadvantage, the Impralians negotiated building a stage on Earth where the competition would be held. After seeing the layout, it was determined that there would be no environmental advantage in combat for them.

It turned out, it wasn’t an environmental advantage they had to worry about. The Impralians used it as a double edged sword. Their technology managed to harness emotional energy – most specifically pain – and use it as a weapon against their opponents. For whatever reason, they couldn’t make it one directional and use it unilaterally against them, but the Impralians relied on their superior regeneration to endure anything their enemies would throw back at them.

They’ve almost made it into an art form. Culturally, the display of their most vulnerable moments was seen as an honor. Something to be respected for. By syncing psychic energy waves in conjunction with the emotional energy, the respective combatants' most marked fighters would have those moments projected for all to view. All persons on the stage would have this signified with red auras located just above the location where the injury occurred. The more frequently the area was injured, the deeper the color and size of the aura.

Stephen’s aura was a dark crimson and stretched meters. It was no wonder he was selected as tribute by their system.

It wasn’t even a fight, really. For once in their history, the Impralian’s defeat was instant. They were prepared for much, but multiple successive ways of dying isn’t something anyone is ever prepared to experience.

Apparently, the Impralians were so impressed by what he managed to survive that they insisted on his presence during the final negotiations. The overwhelming victory won them more than a few concessions of reparations from the Impralians and so Stephen was wrangled into being put on display like a circus act.

It was for the sake of the world, so Stephen grit his teeth and bore it, but he vanished the second he could. He refused to be sucked into something else “no one but him” could assist with. If he wasn’t faced with solemn respect by the Impralians the entire time, he’s sure he would have snapped. What a world when his enemies were more tactful than his own species.

Stephen sags back into Tony’s hold a bit. “Pain is an old friend.” The words are barely above a whisper, but in the quiet between them it might as well have been shouted. “And it wasn’t countless.”

“What?” The confusion was audible.

Stephen sighs. A moment of silence. ��17 million, five hundred forty-four thousand, three hundred twenty-six.”

It takes a heartbeat of time, but Tony’s sharp inhale tells Stephen he got the point. “You remember all of that?”

“Every last one.”

This time, when Tony tries to turn him around, Stephen lets him. He’s tired of fighting. At this point Stephen just wants to get this over with. “Stephen, look at me please.”

The desperation in Tony’s voice has Stephen open his eyes and look into Tony’s. The horror isn’t quite gone, but the pity he was so sure to exist was nowhere to be found. Instead, a deep and enduring sort of concern and care (and dare he say love) was all that was reflected back. It crumples his defenses more thoroughly and rapidly than any empathetic response ever could.

He breaks down, right there in Tony’s arms. The stress and suppressed emotions boil over, silent tears streaming down his face as he finally lets himself feel everything he’s ignored since this living nightmare began. Shoving his face into Tony’s neck to hide, he lets Tony hold him together until he can find it within himself to face reality again.

When he returns to awareness, they’ve migrated to his bed. Tony rubs his back gently and has Stephen tucked under his chin. Levi is wrapped around both of them and when Stephen looks up, he spies the dried tears running down Tony’s face too. There’s some comfort in knowing he wasn’t the only one to become overly emotional, even if he’d prefer this hadn’t happened at all.

“I had hoped to at least take you on a date before ending up in bed together.” Tony weakly jokes.

Despite the terrible timing, Stephen finds himself cracking a grin. He really is gone on this man, Stephen thinks helplessly. Mildly put out with himself, he says, “I’m usually not this easy.”

Tony snorts. “Stephen, babe, you’re anything but easy. It’s a good thing I like a challenge. So?”

“So?”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Will you go on a date with me? Or at least stop avoiding me?”

If the literal horrors of Stephen’s life aren’t enough to drive Tony away from him, he doubts anything will. It’s the easiest thing in the world to say yes. Even if the path to getting here was the hardest.

#ironstrange #ironstrangeweek2023 #ironstrange fanfic #stephen strange #tony stark #tony stark/stephen strange #my writing #fanfic #mcu #marvel cinematic universe fanfic #marvel cinematic universe #mcu fanfic #angst #angst with a happy ending #hurt/comfort #hurt stephen strange #protective tony stark #ao3 #my wriitng

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lailyn · 1 year ago

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Doctor Strange (Movies) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Loki/Tony Stark/Stephen Strange, Loki/Tony Stark, Loki/Stephen Strange, Tony Stark/Stephen Strange Characters: Loki (Marvel), Stephen Strange, Tony Stark Additional Tags: Drama, Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Stephen Strange, Hurt Loki (Marvel), Magical Exhaustion, Gun Violence Series: Part 17 of The IronStrangeFrost Compendium Summary:

Stephen is at his wit's end trying to convince Loki to love him. Tony tries to help.

#ironstrangefrost #ironstrange #strangefrost #frostiron #fic #hurt stephen strange

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hayanwulf · 2 months ago

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Furs and Feathers

Partially inspired by @mystical-magician's beautiful fic, Tiresome heart.

As soon as Tony finds his workshop couch empty, he panics.

His workshop is The Most Secure place in all of US, if not the entire world, built from the ground-up by himself. He Does Not take security lightly.

And for that reason, whenever he is unable to keep his selkie pelt safely within his senses’ reach, he leaves it in here, disguised as a simple, comfy blanket, under the watchful eyes of FRIDAY.

But FRIDAY wasn’t watching it today, because she was deactivated for an update. An update that will still require another hour before she can be safely rebooted.

Tony was only gone to the Accords Council meeting for three hours. Three hours. And between then and now, his selkie pelt disappeared from its usual place on the couch.

Between then and now, someone stole his pelt.

And he is losing his mind.

He shuffles around the couch, throwing around the pillows haphazardly in the hope that it’s right there, that it simply got buried. He checks the other couch as well, tossing its pillows to the heavens. He doesn’t care wherever they land.

He goes on to check every likely spot in his workshop where he might have left it. Surely, under that desk. Surely, at DUM-E’s station. Surely it’s somewhere in here, he just misplaced it and forgot.

(That’s impossible. He would never forget where he last left it. It’s The One Thing he always has and always will handle with utmost care.)

He keeps looking and looking, ignoring the swirling dread in his gut that keeps getting worse with each passing moment. Because it had got to be somewhere in here. No one could have stolen it. It’s impossible to break in to his workshop, and the only people who have access in here are Tony’s closest family.

So it has to be here. It has to.

(Because he doesn’t know what he’ll do if it isn’t.)

“—ny, Tony!” A hand lands on his shoulder, and Tony jerks away in surprise, hand instinctively flying up to repulsor his assailant even though there’s no armor around his hands.

His assailant — no not assailant, it’s Stephen — raises hands in a placating gesture, one hand reaching to gently hold Tony’s hand which was still held up in an offensive position. Tony deflates, his shoulders sagging, as he realizes there’s no threat.

“I was calling you, you didn’t listen,” Stephen says, reaching Tony’s face with his other hand, and traces a finger at Tony’s temple. His finger comes back with a bead of sweat. “What happened? What are you searching for?”

Tony swallows, and it is only now he realizes his body has cold tremors too. Stephen must feel that against his hands. Or does he? Tony takes a step away from his lover, extricating his hand from Stephen’s. “Nothing,” he huffs, and tries to calm his racing heart. Deep breaths, or something like that. “Nothing.”

Stephen steps forward, apparently not letting him escape as he gently grabs Tony’s hand again. “Well, clearly it’s not ‘nothing’, seeing as you’re searching for it like a PhD student searching for their thesis on the last minute.”

Tony snorts. “Is that what you did, lost your thesis papers and searched for them five minutes before viva?”

“Obviously not, I was well prepared and right in time. Don’t Deflect,” Stephen adds when Tony opens his mouth with another snark right on his tongue. “What did you lose?”

Tony swallows the tightness around his throat. Of course he can’t just tell Stephen that hey babe, surprise, I’m actually a selkie and I have this coat which practically half of my life depends on, because if I lose it I can never turn into a seal again. And now I have lost it.

No. For all that Tony dearly loves Stephen, he still can’t tell him that.

It’s an odd concept. Tony has trusted Stephen with his life. He trusts Stephen’s magic. He trusts this man with all his deepest, darkest secrets.

Well, all but the one, apparently.

One would think that by now, Tony would be ready to tell Stephen. But he can’t. He doesn’t understand why, but he can’t. Perhaps it’s the fear, the fear that had always been there, that never quite went away.

The fear of ending up like his mother.

She had loved Howard with all her heart, and Howard had betrayed her trust by locking away her pelt, coerced her to forever stay with him on the ground and never return to the sea. He had stripped her of her freedom, of her autonomy. He had stripped away a piece of herself.

But Stephen isn’t like that. Tony knows that. He loves Tony and would never do such a thing to Tony.

And yet..

Tony swallows hard as a thought strikes him.

Stephen wouldn’t... would he?

His eyes flicker to the inconspicuous couch, where his pelt was supposed to be, where it always is. Inside the most secure facility to ever exist in the States. A place which only Tony’s closest family have access to.

His closest family.

Would he?

There’s no way Stephen could have found out. Yes, he is a sorcerer. Yes, he has been to dimensions unimaginable and has met creatures beyond comprehension.

But Tony is nothing if not careful. For this one thing in his life, he has always been careful. And his mother had taught him well. She taught him the simple but infallible charm he always uses to disguise his pelt into a blanket, the only piece of magic he always drew comfort from before Stephen was in the picture.

Besides, even if, hypothetically, Stephen really does know and was the one to take Tony’s pelt, why is he not throwing that fact at Tony’s face already? Why isn’t he already dangling Tony’s freedom right in front of his eyes and driving him helpless with the knowledge that there’s nothing that he can do?

Or maybe maybe he wants to have a bit of fun first. Maybe he wants to watch Tony struggle, kick his hands and feet searching for his most important piece of possession. Maybe he wants to watch Tony crumble, slowly and painfully, until he’s nothing but a husk of himself.

..No, no, no!

He shakes his head to dispel the stupid devil’s whispers in his ears, because no. Stephen isn’t sadistic. Stephen isn’t sadistic. He loves Tony.

So he wouldn’t.. He couldn’t have..

Tony feels like he’s already crumbling. Falling apart.

He slides to the floor with his back against something, burying his head on his hands, hunching in on himself as his body shakes from the barely suppressed sobs. Maybe he is crying. He’s not sure anymore.

A trembling hand cups his knee, and he flinches, shrinking further into himself.

“Sweetheart, would you talk to me?” Stephen asks, his voice at its most gentle tone. Then another hand is on Tony, coaxing him to remove his hand from his head. The shaking hand carefully grips under his chin, making him look up.

And there Stephen is, sitting right next to him on the cold tiles, his eyebrows pulled in concern, his beautiful gray eyes fixed entirely on Tony, filled with so much worry and sorrow and love, as though Tony is his entire world.

His hand leaves Tony’s chin to wipe a stray tear off Tony’s cheek. “Tell me, what happened?”

God, how could Tony have ever thought that this man would hurt him in in such a way?

Shame and guilt twist in his gut, and he finds that he can’t look at Stephen’s eyes; eyes that are full of nothing but concern and love for Tony.

He wonders for a minute if he should lie, or make some excuse, but he simply has no one else to turn to. How can he turn away the only person who even wants to be here, wants to deal with the trainwreck of a man that Tony is?

“Have you.. seen the blanket that’s always there?”

Stephen turns to the direction Tony indicates with his hand, and blinks when he sees the couch. “The light chestnut one?” He turns back to Tony. “I just saw Peter huddled in it, in the common room.”

Tony’s brain freezes.

“You.. a blanket?” Stephen furrows his brow, glancing once at the couch, then shakes his head. “I don’t understand what—”

Tony bolts up on his feet and is already rushing out of the workshop before Stephen has finished his sentence. He is vaguely aware of his lover rushing after him with stumbling steps, trying to keep up with his pace as he makes it towards the common room. Maybe he calls after Tony. Tony isn’t sure. All he can hear right now is his own heart beating against the ribcage.

And then here he is in the common room, and there Peter is, sitting bundled inside the ‘blanket’ like a perfect burrito, on a small sofa, looking very content and on the verge of falling asleep.

“Hey Mr. Stark! Hey again Doctor Strange!” The kid chirps happily upon seeing the adults.

Tony closes his eyes and inhales a shuddering breath at the sight of his pelt. It’s safe. It was right here! “Kid, I’ve told you, that blanket doesn’t leave my workshop.”

Peter blinks, and the blanket around his loosens a little. “It’s really comfy.. and it kind of reminds me of you. Sorry! That sounds weird. You can have it back!” His words progressively come out in a rush as he wrestles himself out of it.

Tony huffs, even as his heart warms at the thought that Peter finds so much safety wrapped uder his pelt.

A selkie’s pelt is extremely personal to them. It is a part of their skin, and they do not allow just anyone to touch it. But Tony has never had a problem with letting his kid use it as a blanket.

Even if Peter will never fully know just how grand a gesture it is, of Tony’s trust in him.

Tony gratefully accepts the ‘blanket’. As soon as his fingers touch against his second skin, his insides fill with relief, a tangible proof that his pelt is here, safe, unharmed. He hugs it close to his chest. Some part of his mind reminds him to be subtle in the presence of company, and he wisely listens to it, easing up his grip.

“Here,” Stephen says, and Tony looks up to find his sorcerer encouraging Levi off of his shoulders, who all too willingly fly over to Peter and wrap him into another perfect burrito.

Right; it’s winter, and Peter just wanted something to wrap around himself, despite the indoors temperature always maintained a manageable level.

Tony’s pelt was never stolen. It was simply an innocent act, by an innocent child who didn’t know the significance of why Tony wanted this particular blanket always within his workshop walls.

Everything is fine. He would’ve even figured it out himself, if he had stopped freaking out for just one damn minute and had thought about it carefully...

Crisis averted, they wordlessly make their way back to the workshop. Tony can feel Stephen’s eyes on him, knows he has questions swirling left and right in his head. What’s so important about this particular blanket?

As Tony flops down on the couch of his workshop, his pelt in his lap, one hand rubbing the heavy exhaustion from his face, he contemplates what to tell. Should he just say that it’s heirloom? Or that it belonged to his mother. And so he’s attached.

He sounds lame even to himself.

Some small, barely audible voice in his head says that you should tell him the truth. This is your chance.

He buries his face in his hands, because he.. He can’t. He wants to, but..

A presence hovers right before Tony. He opens his eyes to find Stephen bending down to touch the ‘blanket’ in his lap.

Right, because Stephen is smart. Extraordinarily smart. He has a vast imagination and can view things from the wildest, most unthought of perspectives. And he’s a sorcerer with the knowledge of thousand different species of the supernatural, and million more spells & magic theories.

So, really, Tony shouldn’t have been shocked by what happens next.

As Stephen touches the pelt, a wave of orange magic washes over it.

And the disguise falls away.

And there Tony’s pelt is, sitting in his lap, visible in all its glory.

Tony jerks away hurriedly, stunned, hands clutching onto his pelt like his life depends on it.

“Oh,” Stephen breathes. “Oh.” He covers his mouth with both hands in obvious disbelief and..

And fascination, Tony realizes, as he looks at Stephen’s sparkling eyes.

Maybe, maybe that would’ve made Tony feel a little better about all of this, if he had shown it of his own volition.

If he wasn’t feeling so utterly betrayed, for being stripped of his choice.

“I.. wow, I never could’ve even guessed until Today, Tony, you..” Stephen inhales slowly. “How did I not see the clues..” He mutters, mostly to himself.

“Yeah, well, I’m not exactly trying to advertise this, now, am I?” Tony’s voice comes out more snappy than he intended, but he can’t bring himself to care.

Because that fear.. that very thin possibility that Tony might just end up like his mother...

It feels too real now.

Stephen’s eyes flicker with something — realization, perhaps — and he takes a step back, gently raising his hands in a placating gesture. “I didn’t mean to cause you distress. It was just a hunch, the blanket..” Stephen shakes his head. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. I thought...” He sighs, closing his eyes. “I’m going about this the wrong way.”

He then extends a hand to the side and spins a half-sized portal to life, giving Tony a sneak peek to Stephen’s room at the Sanctum through it. He does another hand gesture, one Tony understands to be a simple telekinesis, and an object flies in, the portal closing shut after.

The object, Stephen’s blanket, the one that always stays neatly folded on Stephen’s bed, a rich peacock color and fluffy to the touch, the one Tony always loves hogging when they’re sleeping together, that blanker, drapes itself over Stephen’s shoulders, and— Tony’s breath catches.

There’s no way.

In a shower of orange sparks, the deep peacock blanket changes into a blinding white, beautiful, feathery cloak.

A feather robe!

Tony stares, mouth agape, as Stephen runs a hand down his shoulder, smoothing the pristine white feathers. He doesn’t know what to think. He can barely comprehend what he’s seeing.

Stephen is a swan. His Stephen is a swan.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you,” Stephen says, biting his lip. “I just didn’t know how. Or if you’d...”

If I would understand, Tony completes the unsaid words. If I would cherish that trust. If I would break it.

Tony can understand. God, for the first time in his life, he truly feels understood.

All this time, they were both just two scared, broken men, afraid of breaking further.

Tony takes slow, tentative steps towards Stephen, wanting to see his robe from up close, wanting to touch it, but he doesn’t think that will be acceptable.

Oh, but he does remember touching it, being wrapped in its warmth many a nights, even if it was in a disguised form. And now he can’t stop thinking about it, of all the times this man let Tony drape his feathers on himself.

But now that he knows, he wonders if that will change. If Stephen wouldn’t allow him to touch it anymore.

The thought sends a pang through his heart.

He should’ve told before. God, he should’ve told long ago. But he always chose to stay a coward. He wonders how much of uncertainty and fear he would’ve saved the both of them, if he had chosen to be brave, to be honest.

Walking around Stephen to view the beautiful robe from the back, he freezes at the sight.

Deep scars run vertically down the back, the feathers on those lines dead, deformed.

What he saw on the front was only a glimpse of the beauty that still remains, because the rest of it is hideous.

Just like his scars.

Tony’s heart pains, and he subconsciously reaches out a hand halting an inch away from the feathers. Oh, he wishes he could touch, but—

Stephen backs up, consequently pressing his robe into Tony’s extended hand. Tony gasps at the contact and looks up at Stephen.

Head tilted sideways so he could see Tony behind him, Stephen nods in a silent permission.

Tony swallows and runs his hands over the feather. They feel fluffy and incredibly delicate under his touch, and his heart flutters.

He moves on to the scarred lines, and realizes that the deformity of all the feathers isn’t directly related to the scars. Rather, they are spread out in a very different pattern of their own. Where that pattern emerges from, Tony really couldn’t tell unless Stephen was in his swan form. The feather robe is, after all, an abstraction of his swan hide, in the form of a cloak rather than the exact shape of wings. It’s the same with Tony’s pelt, it appears like a coat more than anything else.

But one thing is, unfortunately apparent.

Stephen can never fly again.

Tony’s heart breaks for this man.

“Do you.. want to touch my pelt?”

Stephen turns around and glances down at Tony’s hand where he’s still holding his pelt to his chest by a hand, and then looks up, hope blooming in his blue eyes. “May I?”

It truly is an odd concept. Only Today, Tony was spiraling down the train of thought of all the awful things Stephen might end up doing if he ever got his hands on Tony’s pelt. And now.. Now he is willing to hand his pelt to Stephen.

Because he knows now, knows with absolute certainty, that Stephen will never betray him.

He offers his pelt towards Stephen. Stephen carefully takes it, and Tony can’t help an involuntary shiver that runs up his spine at the feeling of another touching his pelt like this, without the disguise.

But it’s a pleasant kind of shiver.

Tony can see the awe and marvel in Stephen’s eyes as he so very gently handles the pelt, like it were a beautiful, delicate sculpture made of glass, and would shatter and one smallest mistake.

Stephen moves closer to Tony and drapes the pelt around Tony’s shoulders, straightening it around the shoulders as he murmurs, “It’s silky.”

Tony lets out a soft chuckle. “You don’t say. Yours is fluffier.”

“Well, yours is silkier.”

“Are we turning this into a competition. Cause I can point out twelve more qualities that yours—”

Stephen groans. “Tony, no.”

Tony huffs. “Fine, fine.” He places a hand over Stephen’s where it still rests on his shoulders, and Stephen brings them down so they can hold onto each other.

For a few moments they just stand in the comfort of the other’s presence. It’s.. truth be told, it is a lot to process. There’s just so much to understand here, so much that Tony hadn’t known about Stephen.

And there’s so much he still doesn’t know.

But that can change, starting now.

“So how come you live down here?” Tony asks, looking up at Stephen. From the little that Tony knows, swans are very different from selkies. Half-swans just cannot exist, the way Tony is half-selkie, because children born of a swan and a human never shed a swan robe.

Stephen’s eyes flicker away. Tony feels his body grow tense. “My robe was taken. When I was a child.”

Tony sucks in a sharp breath. “A child? Stephen..”

Stephen shrugged, not looking Tony in the eyes. “My.. the father who raised me, he found me and took my robe. Locked it away. I.. couldn’t find it even after his death. It wasn’t until I became a sorcerer that I searched it out again.” His pets a hand over his feathered shoulder. “And, well, by then I didn’t have much of a reason to go back.” Then, a little quieter, “Not that I would be able to, anyway.”

“Oh, Stephen..” Tony’s heart ached for his love. He had no idea that Stephen.. that he’d been caged all his life.

Just like his mother. Perhaps worse.

“Were you too..?” Stephen asks, finally looking at Tony.

“Christ, no. Well, not me anyway. Howard took my mother’s pelt.”

“I’m sorry,” Stephen says, and genuinely sounds so.

Tony huffs. “Well, we’ve both got quite the shitty life, huh?”

Stephen holds Tony close and leans his forehead against Tony’s. “Not anymore, I suppose.”

Tony smiles softly, closing his eyes and his hands wrap around Stephen’s back, settling buried in the soft, fluffy feathers. “Not anymore.”

#ironstrange #stephen strange #tony stark #supernatural elements #fairytale elements #selkie tony stark #fic #mcu fanfiction #hayans tumblr shorts #fluff #hurt/comfort

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ironstrange1991 · 1 year ago

Text

Human

Pairing: Defender!Strange x PregnantWife!Reader

Synopsis: Stephen is not acting like himself when he returns from a very hard mission.

Word Count: 1,6k

Warnings: None. Basically the hurt/comfort trope.

A/N: I needed a fic with Stephen being vulnerable and soft and ended up with this. Hope you guys like it.

You liked to think you knew Stephen as well as you knew yourself. You knew when he was happy or sad, when he was tired or excited without him having to say a word to you. And it was exactly Stephen's inability to talk about his feelings that made you get into the habit of reading him so well.

You had been together for a few years, married and expecting your first child and as the weeks progressed and you approached the end of the pregnancy you noticed that Stephen began to become more restless, worried. Work didn't help. In fact, for the past three months work had taken up most of Stephen's time and you believed that was one of the reasons he was so restless. He blamed himself for not spending as much time as he wanted with you.

It was Friday night and you were finishing dinner when Stephen and his Defender friends left the meeting room after being there for hours. They had arrived from a mission that afternoon and locked themselves in that room without you even having time to say hi to your husband.

Hearing the familiar chattering in the entrance hall you went to them in time to say goodbye to Jessica Jones and Clint Barton.

"My god, Y/n you look gorgeous. When will the baby arrive?" Jones asked smiling and trying to look like everything was fine, but you could see from the expressions on Barton and Stephen's faces that something was wrong. Sometimes it happened. Something would go wrong with their missions, and they would return home with those tired and sad faces.

You smiled wrapping your arms around Stephen’s waist. "Later this month. We can't wait." You said glancing at Stephen, but he was serious and just nodded without adding any comment.

When Jones and Barton said goodbye and you were finally alone with your husband you took the time to actually look at him. He was well enough. Some cuts on his face as usual, but what was worrying you was not his physical condition. He seemed tired, yes, but something was off, he was different.

"Are you okay?" You asked a little unsure.

He cupped your cheeks and kissed your forehead avoiding your question. "I am going to take a shower." He said pulling away.

"Dinner is ready. I can help you shower..."

"That won't be necessary, baby. I'm sorry, I should have warned you. I'm not hungry. I'm going straight to bed."

You stood there watching him walk away and go up the stairs. You weren't upset because he wouldn't eat, but rather worried about his behavior. Stephen never refused your help when he arrived on a mission. Most of the time he asked you to help him, always eager to have his wife's hands on him.

It was safe to say that by now you had also lost your hunger, so you put all the food in the fridge and went upstairs to find Stephen already in bed, his back resting in a pile of pillows, wearing his reading glasses - which he almost never did in your presence - reading a huge book of spells that he had probably brought with him from Kamar Taj. You sighed, still standing in the doorway and then decided to enter and closed the door behind you.

You went to the bathroom and brushed your teeth and changed out of your clothes into some comfortable pajamas and then went back to the bedroom, but instead of lying down on your side of the bed you stood next to Stephen and held out your hand. "Give me the book. Now is not the time to work. You just arrived and I need to talk to my husband."

He stared at you over his reading glasses and you had to hold yourself back to keep a straight face. He looked so cute when he wore glasses. "I need to find a specific spell..."

"I didn't ask what you needed to do, Stephen. Give me the book."

He sighed, closing the book and handing it into your hands. It was a heavy leather-bound book with symbols that you had no idea what they meant. You placed it on the bedside table and took his reading glasses off, placing them carefully on top of the book.

"I'm fine by the way. I had a great week at work. The baby is fine too. Thank you so much for asking." You said, sitting next to him on the side of the bed.

He ran his hand over his face, sighing heavily. "I'm sorry."

He cupped your face and pulled you to his lips kissing you softly. "Baby, I'm so sorry."

You held his hand on your face.

"Tell me what's going on. I've noticed you've been more taciturn the last few weeks. But I've never seen you like this, Stephen."

He nodded. "I just... I've had a lot of work the last few weeks. I'm tired, that's all."

You didn't believe that. Surely there was something more he didn't want to say.

"I've seen you tired. Hurt, drained of magic, but I've never seen you like this and I need you to tell me what's going on so I can help you."

He took your hands and held them tight in his and then to your astonishment he gave in to a silent cry. You had never seen Stephen cry in all the years you were together. You cupped his face, wiping the tears from his cheek with your thumb.

"Hey! What's wrong? Tell me what's going on."

He sniffed trying to compose himself and then began to speak with a choked voice.

"I'm tired of losing people. Tired of fighting battles that seem to have no end. Tired of seeing innocent people die. This burden is very heavy sometimes and I don't feel like I can carry it at the moment."

You swallowed thickly, feeling tears welling up in your eyes. "You're human, baby. It's normal to feel this way sometimes, there's nothing wrong with that."

He shook his head. "No, I can't. I'm the Sorcerer Supreme, I'm the leader of the Defenders. I don't have the right to succumb because if I do, more people will die and it will be my fault. It's always my fault..."

You shushed him. "Baby that's not true. You always do your best, but it's not possible to save everyone and I'm sorry you feel this way."

You got up and walked around the bed and got comfortable resting your back on a pile of pillows. "Come here. Lay your head in my lap."

He wiped the tears from his face with the back of his hands and surrendered, doing as you asked. You took off the hair tie and started combing the strands gently with your fingers and he let out a heavy sigh.

"Want to tell me what happened on that last mission?"

He shook his head.

"You know you can tell me anything, Stephen."

"I know, but right now I just want to forget everything. I'm so tired. My body is sore from the fight and my head feels like it's going to explode."

You hummed listening and continued stroking his hair. "When was the last time you ate something?"

He did not answer.

"Breakfast? Dinner?" You insisted.

"I don't remember, to be honest."

"Stephen! Let me get you something to eat."

But he held you in place before you could even think about getting up.

"Tomorrow. I don't think I'll be able to hold anything on my stomach tonight, baby. I just want to stay here with you. Please. Want to feel your hands in me."

You sighed, knowing there was no point in insisting.

"You're not going to work tomorrow. I'll talk to Wong in the morning."

He didn't say anything, which made you even more worried. Normally he would have been reluctant to accept your suggestion.

It broke your heart to see Stephen like that. You knew he gave his all to his work, he always put everyone first, in fact that was one of the reasons for your arguments, but it still seemed like it wasn't enough. He overcharged himself, blamed himself for things that weren't his fault. You just wanted him to see himself through your eyes, for him to see himself the way you saw him: a true selfless hero.

"I love you, Stephen. I know you're mad at yourself right now, but I want you to know that I'm proud of you and everything you do to keep me and everyone in this world safe. It's a very heavy burden, baby, but you know I'll always be here to help you carry it."

He turned to look at you. "I love you. So much. More than anything."

You smiled tracing his beard with the tip of your finger. "I know that out there you have to be the Sorcerer Supreme and the Leader of the Defenders, but here, you are allowed to be human, to be Stephen, my sweet husband."

He sighed reaching to touch your cheek.

"There is nothing in the world I want to be more than your husband."

You smiled, holding his hand and lowering it to your belly. "You’re sure?"

And like magic you saw the corner of his lips curl up in a discreet smile that widened and transformed into a wide and beautiful smile when he felt the baby kicking against his hand.

He pressed his lips against your belly and whispered. "I love you so much little one. Can't wait to finally meet you."

You smiled, stroking his hair. "And she loves you. She always starts kicking when she hears your voice. I know she is proud of you just as I am."

Stephen sat up and held your face in his hands. "Thank you, baby, for taking such a good care of me. Everything I do is for my girls."

You leaned in one of his hands. "And I’m so grateful for that. We'll always be here for you in good or bad times. Your two girls will always be here for you.”

Stephen kissed you softly.

Reblog please! Leave a comment if you liked it. Interact! I will love to read all of your comments and opinions. It inspires me to keep writing!

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space-mermaid-writing · 2 months ago

Text

Consort and King [IronStrange]

Summary: Anthony Stark, King of Midgard, needs a spouse. Whether he wants one or not. So he accepts an arranged marriage with the Prince of Kamar-Taj – a man he has never met in his life to the day they are standing in front of each other at the altar, speaking their vows. Is it possible that the feeling of duty grows into something more? Will their future be happy?

Relationship: Tony Stark / Stephen Strange

Tags: arranged marriage au, royal au, strangers to husbands, enemies to lovers, slow burn, idiots in love, fluff, hurt/comfort, miscommunication, all the good stuff

Author's note: Beta by @kvjjjjjj

15 Dealing with the rogues

The portal took Stephen and the other masters to the underground catacombs beneath the temple, where the earlier explosion had been heard. They stepped right into what seemed to be the middle of a summoning.

There were lines and symbols drawn onto the ground and the rogues stood in a large circle, chanting in an ancient language. The black and purple smoke seemed to have originated here.

Whatever they were trying to accomplish, it couldn’t be anything good.

The sorcerer’s of Kamar-Taj immediately attacked; Stephen leading them, sending a powerful beam at one of the rogues. He threw the rogue off his feet. This broke the circle but the others continued their chanting.

It was clear that they were willing to pull through, no matter what.

“They are wearing the mark of the dark dimension!”

Stephen shifted his focus and he realized that the master was right: the rogues had purple glowing marks on their foreheads.

This was bad.

Analyzing the whole situation Stephen noticed that one of the rogue sorcerers standing in the circle had a book hovering in front of him. If Stephen had to bet, he’d say this was the stolen book from the library.

He gritted his teeth as he recognized the rogue's face: it was Kaecilius, a former student of the Ancient One.

And suddenly Stephen had no doubt who had plunged the black dagger into her chest.

Stephen gave the sorcerer closest to him a sign and they attacked Kaecilius together. The other sorcerer, a man around Stephen’s age wearing his brown hair in a ponytail, used a spell to hit the rogue right into his chest.

Kaecilius doubled over in pain.

At the same time, Stephen snagged the book through a small portal – a nifty trick he used to annoy Wong with.

As soon as he got the book in his hand and closed it, the chanting stopped as if a spell had been broken; and all heads turned to him. The marks on their foreheads remained, as well as the hostile look in their purple eyes. It warned Stephen that they would aim to get that book back at any price.

Kaecilius straightened up again, his attention now on Stephen as well. “Look at that! The lost prince has returned.,” he sneered and threw a lightning bolt at him.

Stephen couldn't activate a shield without putting the book down, so he jumped to the side, feeling the heat of the spell way too close for his liking.

For a moment he thought about storing the book in his personal pocket dimension just to keep his hands free. But he couldn’t take on Kaecilius and his zealots at the same time; even with the help of the other masters. They had to split the rogues up.

He weighed his options. He deemed Kaecilius the greater threat. Maybe he was biased, blinded by the image of the Ancient One lying dead on the ground in his mind.

This was personal.

He tossed the book to a younger master nearby; The last time Stephen had seen him before he left for Midgard, he had been wearing the red robes of an apprentice. Now he was wearing the colors of a master.

“Get that book away from here!”

The sorcerer nodded – his face stern – and with a swift motion he opened another portal.

Several sorcerers and rogues followed him, starting a chase. Stephen didn't have time to help him, he was busy dodging another attack from Kaecilius.

“It’s too late,” the rogue sorcerer taunted him. “The channel is already open. The power we draw from it is greater than you could ever imagine. Even your new piece of jewelry won't help you.” His purple blazing eyes darted to the necklace on Stephen's chest, hungrily. “But go ahead. Play with your new toy.”

Only the most powerful mages could actually use it. That was why the Ancient One had had to die.

Stephen summoned a golden mandala, which he threw at Kaecilius. The rogue swiped it away easily.

Both men didn’t hold back in the fight that followed. They threw spells at each other, blocking the other’s magic or redirecting it. More than once, a charge of magic slammed into one of the rock walls and caused the ground to shake.

Stephen noticed that Kaecilius moved mainly within the drawn summoning circle. And it seemed to enhance his magic even further. Like he had said: although the ritual had been interrupted, a channel remained open to the Dark Dimension.

Having this realization, Stephen quickly came up with a plan to get the rogue out of there. And he put this plan into action as soon as he saw an opportunity.

He dodged the falling debris caused by another quake. Using his slingring, he appeared right next to Kaecilius.

As the rogue whirled around to face him, Stephen opened another portal, directly behind him. Before Kaecilius was able to throw up a shield, Stephen hit him with a full blast. He didn't knock the rogue off his feet, but Kaecilius did stumble backwards through the circle.

Stephen followed him, not letting the rogue out of his eyes, and stepped on the roof of one of the temples, which were still surrounded by the black and purple smoke.

The new location up in the air didn’t stop them from continuing to fight. Kaecilius didn’t even bat an eye at it. Stephen simply put a spell on his boots to keep balance, before charging at the rogue.

_________________

Tony helped Wong and some of the other masters to clean up. Most of the damage had been done in the courtyards and between the temples. The sorcerers used magic to repair broken windows and balconies and to get rid of any quicksand.

Overall, it seemed like the attack had been a diversion. And a good one. Tony briefly wondered what kind of enemy Stephen was facing.

Since Tony couldn't contribute much to the repairs with no magic, he assisted a few injured sorcerers to get to the healers.

Suddenly he and Wong saw a flash of orange as a portal opened nearby. Several sorcerers and rogues were running through and past them.

Wong raised his hands for a spell, glancing at Tony, who had his hands on the hilt of his sword. Then he looked back at the sorcerers. He seemed undecided, weighing the potential danger against Stephen's silent plea to protect Tony's life.

The king took the decision away from him, sprinting ahead. “Let's get them!”

That was all the conviction Wong needed, and he quickly caught up to Tony's side. He created a magic rope, similar to the whips Stephen often used fighting, but this time with a knife at one end. He whirled it around and swung it in the direction of a rogue, stopping him from pursuing.

More people were portaling in and out and soon it was a mess to recognize who was a sorcerer of Kamar-Taj and who was a rogue without looking into their faces first; something that needed a few seconds which Tony did not always have in a fight.

Watching them, Tony quickly found that the rogues seemed to be chasing a young man who had an old book tucked under his arm.

Someone grabbed Tony’s arm, and he whirled around to shake off whoever it was – until he noticed it was Wong, who pulled him towards a bunch of portals.

“This way.”

They joined the chase to eliminate the hunters of the book.

Tony recognized the hallway they stepped into next. He had been here in the past two days, even though he wasn’t able to nail down which of the temple buildings it belonged to.

It didn’t matter anyway, because suddenly gravity shifted and the hallway seemed to rotate. Tony elbowed a rogue who staggered too close to him in the side, when the wall that had been to his left was now the new ground.

Man, magic was really annoying.

Tony used Whisperwind to deflect another attack from the rogue he had just elbowed. They had a buzz-cut and their slender form made it impossible to tell their gender. Tony struck their leg, made a lunge to the side and immediately struck them again at the shoulder.

Gravity shifted again. Tony lost his footing and stumbled over a chandelier and right into another portal.

He landed in snow, somewhere in the mountains. It was cold and windy. Tony hated it instantly, but looking up he saw the portal was too high in the air to get back.

He rolled out of the way when Wong came through. The sorcerer landed at his side with grace. He was probably used to these kinds of stunts.

Well, back to the chase.

Tony threw his blade the same time Wong threw his rope dart, both of them hitting different rogues that were still after the book guy. The young sorcerer had toppled to the ground – and he didn’t get back up. When he tried his leg gave in under him, preventing him from getting out of here.

Tony doubted it was his only injury.

The king engaged the rogues in a duel while Wong opened another portal under the young sorcerer with the book; and closed it as soon as he fell through with a yelp.

Now it was Tony and Wong against three rogues. Angrily, they turned towards them.

Tony had Wong's back while he continued to attack them from afar with Whisperwind.

He wasn't stupid enough to face magic without a shield of his own. Luckily, Wong provided one for both of them. Tony had already noticed after today that the sorcerer was a skilled fighter, and between the two of them, the rogues stood no chance.

After the last of the three bodies had hit the snow, he pulled his blade back onto the hilt.

“Can we get out of here?” He asked, freezing from the cold.

He was shivering from the weatherand sweating from the fight at the same time. His breath came in little puffs of white fog whenever he exhaled, and he barely felt his fingers anymore.

Used to the warm climate of Midgard, Tony was not a fan of these winter mountains. Especially when he wasn’t wearing any warm clothes.

Wong nodded and opened another portal. Tony was glad to step through it, and he saw they were back in the garden of the Sorcerer's Temples.

Apparently Wong had followed the sorcerer's magical signature with the book or something like that, because they found the man. His legs had failed him and he had sunk to the grass, leaning his back against a tree.

He panted heavily, his fingers raised for another spell. As soon as he saw Wong, he dropped his hands, relief visible on his face.

“You did good,” Wong reassured the young master as he stepped up to him. “I’m taking this from here.”

The young man nodded and handed him the book. “Thank you, Master Wong,” he sighed, closing his eyes for a second.

Wong hung the book on his belt before making it disappear with a gesture.

“Where did it go?” Tony asked because apparently this old looking book was important enough that people would kill for it.

Wong patted the space where it should be, and there was a surprising solid noise.

“I hid it from prying eyes.”

“Great.” Tony turned back to the injured sorcerer. “Let's bring him to the infirmary. Can you open another one of those magic circles?”

“It’s called a portal.” Wong rolled his eyes, but there was no bite in his voice.

��Of course. Whatever you say.” Tony helped the younger sorcerer onto his feet. The boy groaned in pain as soon as he moved his leg.

Tony put his arm around his shoulders, taking most of his weight.

“Thanks,” the sorcerer muttered. “I’m Aimar, by the way.”

"Tony." Aimar didn’t seem to be aware that he was talking to royalty. Tony helped him limp through the portal that Wong had opened. “Don’t worry, you will be back in shape in no time.”

Aimar hummed. “Did we win?”

“There may be some of them left, but we will get them. You rest.”

The sorcerer nodded.

Tony helped him sit down on an empty bed in the infirmary and Aimar passed out almost instantly. Tony waved over a healer before he and Wong went back outside; this time through the front door.

Just as he was about to descend the steps of the temple, he noticed a movement and looked up. Stopping in his tracks he stared as he saw Stephen fighting another sorcerer on the roof of a temple.

Kaecilius hurled a powerful spell at Stephen, some kind of purple beam. Tony didn’t see what Stephen did, but before the beam hit him, it exploded into hundreds of butterflies. They scattered in all directions.

“Wong!”

Wong, who was instructing some apprentices, whirled around, alarmed by the king’s worried voice. His eyes followed Tony’s pointing arm.

Stephen moved as if his shoulder was injured. His movements were no longer fluid, his face tense. He was biting back the pain.

Nevertheless, he returned the attack. Wind came up, roaring into an almost visible storm of yellow and orange, moving around them. Small, delicate swirls, that suddenly morphed into needles and attacked Kaecilius.

It cut his skin and he let out an angry cry that was heard even in the yards.

Tony hated not being able to do anything to help. Even though he had fought enough wars to know when to join a fight and when to trust others to win. Any interference from him would only hinder Stephen.

He sent a prayer to all known gods that his husband would return safely to his arms.

Stephen mustered up all his strength. He couldn’t just use raw power. Kaecilius simply had more of it.

But he could try the Sorcerer Supreme’s way.

Stephen closed his eyes for a moment. His fingers touched – as he had seen the Ancient One do so often – and he crossed his hands.

The Eye of Agamotto opened, glowing bright green.

Kaecilius laughed. This was Strange’s end. You needed years of training and studies to use the Eye without any consequences. Strange was a fool for trying to use it. It would be his downfall.

As soon as the Eye opened, Stephen felt its power. It was so much more than he had ever imagined. It was like embracing a wave while trying to redirect it with nothing but his bare hands.

His broken hands.

He could only hope it would not drown him.

It was dangerous to experiment with these kinds of powers; it was easy to be corrupted by them – or crushed by them.

At that moment Stephen didn’t care. Anger and grief clouded the rational part of his mind, letting him become careless.

It also allowed him to dig deeper into his own powers.

Kaecilius hurled a spell at him and Stephen wasn’t able to block it; his whole focus went into controlling the Eye. He did manage to stay on his feet, but still slid backwards. It hurt. He was bleeding from somewhere. But there was no time to dwell on it.

The green glowing necklace on his chest felt like a pool of lava. Stephen needed to draw from it without burning his hands. It was an impossible task.

He moved his fingers anyway; in a pattern he had once read about. A spell of banishment, forceful enough for a demon.

A memory of the Ancient One came into his mind. She smiled gently at him – patiently – whenever he had thrown a tantrum. And Stephen had thrown a lot of them when he first started to study magic.

A single tear ran down his cheek.

Another attack hit Stephen and he heard Kaecilius laughing. He clenched his teeth. By now he was standing up only by willpower alone.

“Faith is my sword, truth is my shield, knowledge my armor,” he murmured. It was something the Ancient One had taught him and he had internalized the words.

Everything hurt. Especially his heart.

Stephen's mind wandered to Tony; his brave, beautiful husband, who was still at the temples somewhere. Stephen would defend him, fight for him until his dying breath.

“Let’s see if you still laugh if you meet the demon you planned to summon in person,” Stephen growled through gritted teeth.

The faint green glow that had followed the movement of his fingers, finished its pattern and lit up brightly now.

Kaecilius’ laughter stopped abruptly. There was suddenly fear in his eyes upon realization.

Stephen had done it.

With a grunt he pushed the green magic at the rogue. Kaecilius tried to dodge it, but it was to no avail. The magic wrapped around him, held him tight and confined his movements as well as his voice. The magic had him in its grip and there was no escape.

The green got brighter and brighter until it exploded in a sphere of light, as the rogue sorcerer was catapulted from this world.

Stephen barely noticed it. The blast wave from the explosion had caught him and knocked him backwards off his feet. His focus was solely on controlling the Eye, which was why he lost grip of all the other spells - including the one on his boots that had been holding him on the roof.

And thus he fell.

Tony panicked because it was too fast and Stephen was diving head first. His movements were slow and staggered as he tried to perform a spell.

However, nothing happened – his magic failed him – and Stephen continued to fall, unhindered.

Suddenly, a golden glowing portal opened in front of him; its counterpart leading to Wong, who was controlling the spell. Stephen fell through it, hitting the ground at a shallow angle that abruptly ended his fall. He tumbled across the ground, rolling over several times before coming to a halt groaning.

He felt like he had just bruised everything for a second time today.

Tony ran over to him. “Stephen! Shit, are you okay? Talk to me!”

The sorcerer struggled to get to his feet; his legs trembled and gave way under the weight of his body when he tried to move.

Tony’s hands were all over Stephen, making sure he was alive.

“You’re alright! Everything’s fine.” Tony reassured Stephen as well as his own self. Seeing his husband fight – and almost falling to death – had shaken him more than he cared to admit.

“You’re not allowed to do these kinds of stunts again. You hear me? I don’t… I need you to be safe.” His voice was shaking.

“Is he gone?” Stephen asked, his voice rough.

“That other guy? Yes, he exploded or something like that. He is gone.”

Relieved, Stephen stopped trying to get up and rolled onto his back instead. He hissed in pain. “Can you… get a healer please?”

“Of course!” Tony turned around to pass the request to Wong – because there was no way he was leaving Stephen’s side.

Only, Wong was gone. Always a step ahead, the sorcerer had hurried inside the infirmary as soon as he had closed the portal behind Stephen.

Tony praised his quick thinking. Wong deserved a raise.

Stephen was on the verge of fainting, overwhelmed by the pain that seemed to get stronger the more the adrenaline was wearing off.

He didn't notice a rogue sorcerer creeping up, a black dagger in his hand.

Not all of them were neutralized yet. The rogues were defeated, their plan had failed; but that only made the remaining ones angrier.

It was easy to direct that anger onto Strange, who had stepped in to stop them. Who was wearing the Eye of Agamotto now.

Strange, who had left the temples a while ago to play consort.

Strange, who lay defenseless on the ground. Vulnerable.

The rogue saw his chance for a quick revenge. Even with Tony at the sorcerer’s side, he thought they would be an easy target. Tony's clothes were clearly not from Kamar-Taj, so he wasn’t a Master of the Mystic Arts.

Stephen didn’t notice the rogue sneaking up.

But Tony did. With a swift motion he drew Whisperwind and swung the blade at the rogue. “Don’t you dare touch him!” he spat angrily.

Tony had been trained in sword fighting since the age of nine, when he had been tall enough to hold a wooden weapon in his hands, and wield it. His movements were practiced and precise.

The rogue sorcerer was surprised by the fury that met him. He defended himself but he stood no real chance against the fierce husband.

A blade in his chest stopped the rogue’s beating heart.

Tony stepped to him and connected the sword back into one piece before he pulled out the blade, ignoring the blood dripping from it. His eyes darted around to see if anyone else was stupid enough to attack his Stephen.

There was no one.

“Tony..” Stephen coughed weakly and Tony was back at his side instantly.

“I’m here, Stephen.”

Finally, Wong was back, a healer hot on his heels. He was startled by the freshly dead rogue next to Stephen, but Tony gave him a look that reassured him.

Everything was under control.

Tony stayed at Stephen’s side while the healer moved faintly glowing fingers over the sorcerer’s body. Tony wasn’t sure what kind of magic he did, but Stephen exhaled deeply. His breathing seemed to come easier to him after that and he was in less pain. He was even able to sit up.

It didn’t stop Tony from fussing over his husband and he only stopped when Stephen took Tony’s hands into his.

“Tony,” he spoke softly and waited until Tony looked at him. “I’m fine.”

“You’re fine…” Tony echoed.

And it was the truth: by some miracle both men had survived.

Tony accepted a cup of water handed out by some apprentices in red robes and handed it straight to his husband. Stephen drank from it and then gave it back to Tony, wordlessly asking him to do the same.

They were still sitting on the ground near the infirmary. It wasn't even midday. That such an attack had happened in broad daylight was unusual. The attackers had used the cover of the fog, but they must have been very sure of their victory. Maybe overconfident.

Stephen looked at the place where the body of the Ancient One no longer lay, and he realized something. “She knew it.”

“Who?” Tony asked.

“The Ancient One. She must have known what would happen today. She wasn’t even surprised by the alarm. She probably even suspected she would die today, and I was the person she asked to see before she… I think she wanted to make sure I was happy in Midgard.”

Stephen looked at Tony, his eyes suddenly wet.

Tony put a sympathetic hand on his arm. He had known her only for a day, but that was enough to see what an incredible woman she had been. And she had clearly cared about Stephen a lot.

Tony briefly wondered why she had not tried to prevent her death if she had known. He couldn't imagine living with that kind of knowledge and still letting it happen.

He remembered Donna’s words about time magic.

And who knew… maybe the alternatives had been even worse…

“Luckily we had chosen now to visit,” he concluded his trail of thoughts. At least that had given Stephen the opportunity to speak to his mentor one last time.

The sorcerer made a noise that sounded somewhere between a hollow laugh and a painful sob. “There are no such things as coincidences. Everything happens for a reason.”

Tony didn’t fully agree with that. They had planned this trip and informed the Sorcerer Supreme, or really anyone, only after everything had been agreed on.

On the other hand… if Stephen hadn’t stepped in fighting that evil guy – who else would have? And would they have succeeded?

Wong stepped to their side. He had stayed close to him the whole time since the fight had started. Not only as Stephen's manservant but today, as their guard and – most importantly – as Stephen’s friend.

“Stephen, The Council is meeting to decide how to proceed. They asked us to join them.” He turned his face to Tony. “As Stephen’s husband and ally of Kamar-Taj you are welcome as well.”

Stephen nodded and slowly got up to his feet. He briefly staggered when a wave of dizziness overtook for a moment, but he rejected Tony’s hand that tried to support him.

“I’m fine. Just magical exhaustion.”

Tony didn’t know anything about that. Sure, Stephen's exterior wounds seemed healed; mostly scratches and cracked skin from when he was rolling all over the ground. But he didn’t believe that deeper, internal injuries would heal just as quickly. Even with magic.

Tony was glad to be able to join the Council and keep an eye on Stephen. Although he would have understood if he had been excluded from what was clearly a discussion about internal affairs of the sorcerers.

Some might say it was way too early to deal with the political consequences; the damage caused by the attack was still being recorded. The bodies of the fallen were still being carried off the battlefields.

But this had been an act of war and war didn’t care about sensibility or anyone’s grief.

Tony wasn’t fully familiar with the command structure of the sorcerers, but he knew they were in a weaker position without their leader.

Wong led them to a nearby temple and into a smaller room. Several other men and women in robes of various colors had gathered there. They greeted the three men and introduced themselves to the King of Midgard.

Stephen removed the necklace from his neck and put it onto a pedestal that had the exact shape to hold it. Nobody else touched it.

Tony noticed someone had brought food. It was just a big bowl of rice – nobody had time to cook with the attack - but Tony was still thankful. Breakfast seemed like an eternity ago and everyone knew that council meetings could go on forever.

And really: it started with everyone present telling what had happened from their perspective. It helped to get the big picture; like pieces of a puzzle.

It took a long time and often the stories overlapped.

Stephen was the last to talk, as he reported how he managed to defeat the head of the attackers, Kaecilius.

For once, Tony leaned back and listened quietly. He only talked when he was asked to.

The council meeting was long and tedious. Some people were circling back multiple times to discuss why the incident had happened in the first place.

Tony was used to this; it was similar to holding a council with the nobles. And Stephen seemed to feel the same way, except he wasn’t shy about his opinion on that. There was a lot of eye rolling from his side and he took an active part in the discussion, although he no longer lived here. But he was still a sorcerer – the Ancient One had said he had a forever place here – and he was also still their prince.

Then the question was raised who should become the next Sorcerer Supreme, and instantly silence fell.

Stephen looked at the others and needed a moment to realize all eyes were on him. He frowned.

“No.”

“It was supposed to be you,” an older sorcerer interjected. Tony had gotten to know him as Master Hamir. “You are one of the best candidates we have ever had.”

“I have other commitments,” Stephen interjected. “And I'm going to be king.”

“Not of Kamar-Taj. It's a technicality, but the law doesn't apply in this case,” Master Minoru interjected.

Stephen was truly surprised that all his arguments were discarded and instead he even received encouragement. He hadn't expected that; he had been gone for months and had not planned on coming back for anything more than a visit.

He looked at Tony as if asking him for backup. He had made a promise to Tony the day they had married. The day he had signed the wedding contracts.

But to his surprise, Tony sided with the sorcerers. “We could arrange around your new duties.”

“It would mean that I would mostly stay in Kamar-Taj,” Stephen pointed out.

“I know.” Tony stepped closer to his husband. Stephen flinched and it almost looked like he would draw back, but he didn’t move away, his feet planted in the ground. Gently, Tony took the scarred hands into his. “I don’t want to keep you from this. It’s important to you.”

He remembered the Ancient One’s words from yesterday – and oh god it was really only yesterday they had arrived in Kamar-Taj and met her. It felt like weeks ago.

Even if it meant making sacrifices and only getting a small part of Stephen; Tony wanted him to be happy.

The other masters listened in silence. This was now a discussion between husbands. And between the rulers of a kingdom.

Stephen realized just how serious Tony was. He didn’t know how he deserved this man.

When his parents had presented him the marriage proposal he had thought that this part of his life was done and over. But now Tony offered him a second chance.

Stephen knew what it meant for Midgard and its king: Stephen would barely be there, his attention always divided between two realms that weren’t even close to each other.

How often would they even be able to see each other?

It was a big decision to make and Stephen should take his time for it. But he knew what he wanted for his future; even more so after what Tony had just offered.

“You are right.” Stephen was suddenly clear on what to say. “But there’s one thing that you didn’t consider. The most important thing.” There was a smile on his lips. “I love you.”

Tony looked at him in awe, his mind blanking. He needed a second to find his words. “You… uh, really? You really mean that?”

“I truly do. There are other perfectly fine candidates and-…”

Tony pulled him into a kiss. It was a kiss that spoke of whispered confessions and shared dreams.

Stephen would stay at Tony’s side. He chose Tony.

Tony was enough for him.

He felt like the happiest man alive.

Tony only remembered there were other people in the room when someone cleared their throat. He didn’t care; kissing his husband wasn’t the worst he had been caught doing.

Stephen's cheeks, on the other hand, were tinted red. He stood up a bit straighter when he turned to the other masters, but he kept his fingers interlaced with Tony’s, who was outright beaming.

“I decline,” Stephen announced what they had come to realize was his final answer. “That doesn’t mean I won’t aid you if anything happens. Just not in the position as the Sorcerer Supreme. Instead I propose Loki, Prince of Asgard, for that.”

Now, those words surprised some of the sorcerers.

Some others didn’t seem shocked at all.

“We will consider it,” Master Hamir said.

And somehow that marked the end of this meeting.

_____________

Taglist: @goopierthenyou (tell me if you want to be added/removed)

#ironstrange #doctor strange #stephen strange #tony stark #tony stark x doctor strange #Consort and King #marvel #mcu #spacemermaid #Janora #enemies to lovers #slow burn #strangers to husbands #angst #hurt/comfort

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sobeautifullyobsessed · 10 months ago

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'It's Not the Years, Honey - It's the Mileage'

a Whumped Doctor Strange one-shot

Inspired by a couple of pre Multiverse of Madness articles comparing Stephen Strange to Indiana Jones😉😁

genre: whump, hurt/comfort, light humor

rating: general audience

characters: Stephen Strange, Tess O'Neill (Healer of Kamar-Taj, OFC); established relationship; Cloak of Levitation

word count: 1.9k

It was supposed to have been date night, but Stephen was overdue. Three hours overdue. Again. Tess had taken these things in stride, right from the start. After all, you can’t be lucky enough to be the significant other of the Sorcerer Supreme without being incredibly patient, understanding, and flexible. Besides which, he was always so adorable when he finally found his way home, sincere in his apologies, and more often than not, presenting her with a fresh bouquet, which he managed to conjure even before he uttered a single word. Tonight’s transgression was bound to be a two dozen roses mea culpa--and she just knew he’d make them her favorite: pale pink American Beauties.

Not that he ever needed to. His company was dear enough recompense for any time he kept her waiting. Except for the worrying, of course, but Tess had quickly adjusted to that, and so far she hadn’t made any complaint, no matter how late her Stephen managed to show up. She’d rather spend their precious time on more pleasant pursuits--and on showing him however she could, how happy he made her simply by being...him.

And so, Tess had adjusted down their plans. First, from dinner out and a movie, to take-out and the latest blu-ray release. And then from that, to something she could whip up, quick and easy, in the Sanctum’s smaller kitchen. Stephen was bound to be hungry when he arrived, and she had a hearty pot of stew simmering on the stove and a batch of honey cornbread ready to pop into the oven while he cleaned up.

Tess had just given the stew another stir, when she felt a tapping on her shoulder. She turned to find Cloak looking battle singed and...well...harried. How this being without a face could express such a wide range of emotions was a continual wonder to her--but right now her immediate reaction was to ask if Stephen was alright.

Cloak’s collar shook a clear ��no’, and then it tugged at her arm, to get her moving. She turned off the stove and moved the stewpot to another burner, and followed Cloak down the grand staircase. And there sat Stephen on the third step, head bowed and shoulders hunched, his bloodstained tunic rent in several places. Tess’s heart leapt to her throat, though she tried to remain calm, realizing that he needed her as a Healer tonight, far more than as the woman who loved him.

She dropped to one knee in front of him, noting that the shelf of his jaw bore a dark bruise, and that he had a nasty cut across the bridge of his nose, a black eye and a split lip. “Hey,” she said softly, reaching her sure hands towards him, studying his wounds with practiced eyes, evaluating which she should address first. Thankfully, the blood on his clothing was dried, so that Tess concluded he wasn’t actively bleeding. “What happened,” she asked quietly, concerned to see him breathe shallowly, as breathing any deeper appeared to make him wince.

“You don’t wanna know,” he muttered, as she placed both of her palms on his chest and closed her eyes, searching for any internal damage.

“Ow...ow...ow...owwwwwwww,” he grumbled, “Is this really necessary?”

Cloak was flitting back and forth, giving the closest approximation of pacing as possible. “It certainly is, as well you know...Doctor.” To that he only grunted, then followed with a heavy groan when she palpated his lower ribs and abdomen. “Stephen,” she informed him patiently, “You’ve got at least three cracked ribs...”

“I know,” he replied curtly, “Don’t you think I know that?”

Tess tried to placate him. “Of course you do--but there’s no need to be pissy about it. It’ll just take a simple healing spell to start them knitting properly together.”

“I...know,” he repeated through gritted teeth, attempting to stand. Cloak had to swoop in to keep him from landing hard on his bottom.

Tess rose and wiped her hands on her denim capris. “Cloak, can you get him up to the infirmary, so I can take care of him properly?”

Cloak nodded, but Stephen had other ideas. “No infirmary--just get me to my room...”

Honestly, doctors really do make the worst patients, she thought, although she held her tongue, telling Stephen instead, “Nope. It’s the infirmary for you.” He huffed, but didn’t speak up. “And that’s Healer’s orders, Stephen. I outrank you in this, at least for the moment...”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled dismissively. He handed her his sling ring, “We can portal there--it’ll be quicker and a less bumpy trip than relying on...” He wagged his head in Cloak’s direction.

Tess had to suppress a chuckle, as Cloak’s reaction to that perceived insult was to turn its back to Stephen. “Alright,” she sighed, slipping his ring on and bringing the golden circle to life. She returned to his side and offered him a hand to help him stand up. “Just lean on me, and we’ll be there in a jiffy.”

She could feel his aversion to appearing so needy, even as he braced himself with an arm across her shoulders, but knew well that it wasn’t on her account. Stephen generally disliked showing weakness to anyone, although as their relationship had blossomed, his trust in her had been enough for him to reveal much of what he hid from the world behind sarcasm and bravado. Tess had always taken such precious trust as both a privilege and an honor. Stiff lipped against his pain and leaning on her heavily, they hobbled through the portal and Tess led him to sit on the nearest bed.

The infirmary was empty but for them, and she took a moment to close the portal, and then rushed to gather her supplies. Disinfectant and a basin of warm water, along with a washcloth and the softest, fluffiest towel she could conjure, for after she got him cleaned up. And bandages. Lots and lots of bandages. Tess returned to Stephen’s side to find him struggling to remove his tunic. She set down her things, telling him, “Here...let me...”

“I’ve...got...this.” he grunted, though it was clearly hurting him to raise his arms above his head.

“No. No you don’t,” she corrected him gently, “Please--just let me do my job, Stephen.”

“Alright...alright...” He did his best to relax as she worked the garment over his head and off. Tess gasped at the network of contusions across his shoulders and upper chest. “Dammit, Tess...that hurts!”

“I know, darling. I know.” To her relief, most of his bruises appeared superficial. “Let’s start by getting you cleaned up, okay.” Stephen nooded, and closed his eyes as she washed the cut on his nose, and several shallow scratches on his cheeks and chin, finally seeing to the split on his lower lip.

Next, she addressed the wounds on his back, circling behind him and perching on the edge of the bed. She was relieved again to find that they were rather shallow as well, and made quick work of cleansing them. Tess chose that moment to speak to him as his woman, rather than as a Healer. “You know--you’re extremely fit for a man your age, darling. But it wouldn’t hurt to be a little more careful out there.”

“It’s not the years, honey...” he snorted, “...it’s the mileage...” Stephen had stiffened despite her gentle approach, but when she applied the disinfectant, he hissed out a string of very un-Stephen-like curses.

“Don’t be such a baby,” she muttered, her patience beginning to strain.

“I’m not,” he responded petulantly.

Coulda fooled me, she thought, but bit back that retort. A few minutes more and she had his wounds properly bandaged. Tess set aside the basin and the towel, telling him, “Now let’s see about those ribs. Do you think you can lay back? It’ll be easier that way.”

“Of course I can,” he barked, “I’m not an invalid, you know.”

No, you’re just the crankiest Master of the Mystic Arts that I've ever encountered. Bravest and most selfless too, so I suppose I can forgive your churlishness.

He winced when she placed her hands on his shoulders, helping to ease him onto his back. Closing her eyes again, she skimmed her hands above the skin covering his damaged ribs, whispering the charm needed to bolster his body’s natural healing ability. Satisfied that she had succeeded once she could feel the spell take root, Tess pulled her hands away and opened her eyes. Stephen’s were closed, and his face had gone slack with a look of relief. Good enough, she concluded, hoping he would sleep a long while to aid in healing.

Still, she thought she could do a little something to speed the reduction in the nastiest of his contusions--and it would be best to try while he was asleep. She reached tentative fingers to Stephen’s right shoulder. His eyes flew open with a start, “Owwwwww...that’s still tender, you know!”

“I’m just trying to help...”

“Well...I don’t need a nurse anymore,” he groused, “I just want to sleep.”

“If you let me see to these now, you’ll feel much better in the morning...” Tess trailed her fingertips along his jaw, channeling her own energy into relieving his pain. “Any better?”

"A little,” he pouted, “But it hurts...almost everywhere...”

There seemed to be no pleasing him this way--but still, it was her nature to try. Exasperated, she blurted out, “Well, dammit, Stephen--where doesn’t it hurt?”

Looking defiant, he showed her his elbow, “Here.” Tess laid the softest kiss she could upon it.

“And...and here,” he added, pointing to his forehead, his whole demeanor softening in response to her tenderness. Cautiously, Tess leaned in and planted a loving kiss there. Momentum had turned in her favor.

Stephen pointed to his un-blackened eye, “Um...here?”

Tess smiled softly, watching his eyes flutter shut, and then brushed her lips as lightly as she could upon his eyelid. There was a moment as her face hovered over his, and the look when he opened his eyes made her heart start to melt--for within their mercurial depths, she saw both gratitude and an apology for his childish behavior. Stephen tapped his lips and murmured, “Here.”

She wondered if he felt her indulgent smile as their lips finally met, but before too long their kiss had gone from chaste to something deeper and more enduring, as he relaxed completely under her loving ministration. When she finally pulled away, Tess found that her kiss had worked a magic of its own, and her beloved Stephen was out like a light.

Tess arose and draped the sheet across him lightly, then levitated the next bed over and landed it flush against his. Her hunch was that he’d sleep through the night, but she wanted to be close by if he should need her.

Come morning, she awoke to find him gone--can’t keep a good Sorcerer down for long, she mused--but in his place, he’d left three dozen pale pink American Beauties, and a small piece of handwritten parchment. It was brief but to the point:

Thank you, honey. For everything. Love - your Stephen xx

tagging: @hithertoundreamtof23 @stewardofningishzida @ironstrange1991 @mousedetective @aphroditesdilemma @icytrickster17 @groovyqueer @battledress @aelaer @mckiwi @couldntbedamned

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shoia · 2 years ago

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create a cover for my fanfic based on ironstrange (in Russian)

#ironstrange #doctor strange #iron man #tony stark #stephen strange #au #hurt/comfort

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memelovescaps · 3 months ago

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I'd give up forever to touch you

He stopped in the doorway, the sight of her tear-streaked face twisting something deep within him. He’d faced horrors across universes, but nothing had ever prepared him for this: seeing her so vulnerable, so broken.

Seeing her look so painfully young and scared, so achingly familiar.

Her eyes. He was sure he would never forget them, wet, wide and scared. Something inside of him broke at the sight, and he took a ragged breath, his trembling hands twitching to hold her.

None of the monsters, not the loss he’d faced, not the fear, the pain... nothing cut as deep as seeing those tears on her face, a reminder of all she had lost at such a tender age.

Her wide, tear-bright eyes pulled at memories he rarely allowed himself to touch. Her small frame, curled and trembling, reminded him of a girl he hadn’t been able to save.

Donna.

He hadn’t been able to save her. She was his first failure, and he’d carried that guilt, that ache, like a wound that refused to close.

And now here was America, this brave, remarkable girl who needed him. But he couldn’t keep himself from trembling, afraid that history might repeat itself—that, despite everything, he could lose her, too. That she would become another ghost haunting his failures.

Yet, he couldn’t keep away from her. Even knowing how much it could hurt, her presence soothed an ache so deep, so woven in him, he hadn’t realised how much it had hurt. Until her.

“Ste—Stephen...” she voiced, her voice shaken, broken.

His mind was taken from that horrible night by the lake, his eyes, almost as wild as desperate as hers, focused on her.

His feet took him to her bed, opening his arms as she collided with him, tears rolling down her cheeks as a choked sob emerged from her throat.

He pulled her in, letting her curl up against him and hide against his chest, uncontrollable sobs wracking her. She seemed so small, so much smaller than the fierce girl he knew. It broke him, how much she’d endured, and he knew he couldn’t let her carry that pain alone.

“Shhh it’s alright Scout... I’m here,” his hand gently cradled her head as she buried her face deeper into his chest.

He felt her relax against him, her breath shuddering against his collar, and he pulled her closer, fighting the fear that gnawed at him. He would do whatever it took—he would be everything she needed, even if he had to guard every moment of her life. He couldn’t afford to fail again. He’d lost Donna once. But this time… with America… he wouldn’t make the same mistake.

The cloak moved from his shoulders, wrapping itself gently around them both, cocooning her against his chest. He let his arms settle around her, a fierce promise settling in his heart, grounding him in that quiet certainty.

Also available on Wattpad and Fanfiction.

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hithertoundreamtof23 · 6 months ago

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New Stephen Strange Whump!

Summary: Thanos believes it's time to leave his mark on Stephen… permanently.

Or… An au where Tony and Peter never saved Stephen, so his torture is prolonged.

BTHB- Lacerations

Bad Things Happen Bingo Masterlist

My Fic Masterlist

#bad things happen bingo #Prompt: Lacerations #Fandom: Doctor Strange/ MCU #ebony maw #thanos #stephen strange #lacerations #torture #vomiting #manipulation #brainwashing #branding #Stephen strange whump #hurt Stephen strange #doctor strange #my writing #marvel

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popcorn-plots · 1 year ago

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Febuwhump day 8: "Why won't it stop?"

Title: Crimson Tears

Words: 200

Summary: Stephen breaks after using Atlantean Black Magic.

THIS MIGHT ACTUALLY BE MY FAVORITE ONE

~~~

He was bleeding again. He didn’t know how, only that it was red and warm and sticky and it was dripping down his face.

His face? Oh, his eyes were bleeding again.

Stephen could hear someone next to him, gently wiping away the blood. He was on the floor, the hard wooden parquet digging into his legs, the chill biting at his damaged hands. It was wrong, all the blood. He wondered when he would ever have to stop fighting, wondered when the bleeding would finally stop. He wondered if he would ever breathe freely again, safe from the horrors of his world.

He could feel Wong's soft hands on his cheek, so much smaller than his own. Delicate but strong. He raised his head. He couldn't see through the sticky red, but he could feel Wong settle to the ground next to him, strong, wiry arms holding him close to a cotton-clad chest. It was warm, different from the blood drying on his face.

"Why won't it stop?" Stephen choked out. Blood was in his mouth, in his eyes, on his shirt, his hands. It was everywhere.

Stephen cried. Salt tears carved through the copper blood.

"Make it stop..."

Ao3

#febuwhump #febuwhump day 8 #febuwhump 2024 #tw blood #hurt stephen strange #stephen strange #doctor stephen strange #wong #wongstrange #wong x strange #guess what im sick #yay

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kuroecchy · 1 year ago

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the pic in the list are not mine, I just found the pics from pinterest.

fair warning the theme i chose for my october prompts are completly randome so I have nothing planned for any of them.

English is not my first language and no beta.

!WARNING!

child abuse

Past trauma

homophobic

minor character death

Day 4 - Childhood

It started in the morning. He felt like he had woken at the wrong side of the bed. He felt like he could explode at any time.

He tried to get his mind off it and went to the kitchen to make himself a cup of coffee. Only to find that the coffee maker is broken.

He sighed, He wished Stephen was here. His boyfriend makes the best coffee and tea the engineer had ever tasted.

He forgoes breakfast since Stephen is at Kamar-Taj and wouldn’t be back till later this evening.

He went down to his lab through the elevator. When the door opened, the face of Steve Grant Rogers was the one that greeted him.

Just great, he thought sarcastically. Still, he stepped into the elevator.

“Tony? You look terrible. Maybe you should rest some more.” The captain was showing genuine concern but Tony wasn’t really in the mood to be nice.

“I’m fine,” He said curtly, “What are you doing here?”

“I’m about to go mee Sam and Bucky to go on a run with them.” While he said that, his expression still shows concern about the shorter man’s wellbeing.

Tony hates it. Thankfully the elevator opened to his floor quickly so he could step out.

Stiffly he spoke, “Well, this is my stop. See you around, I guess.”

He then quickly left to enter his workshop.

His bad day didn’t seem to stop there, It followed him throughout the day. He kept accidentally messing things up and it caused the engineer to get even more irritated.

Time flew by ang the next he knew it was night time.

He’s tired, frustrated, angry, and hungry. He felt terrible and he knows he looks terrible too.

He was stopped from continuing by his AI informing him that both Stephen and Peter had returned and Stephen is making dinner.

So he decided to go greet them.

Upon arriving he was greeted with Peter’s over energetic-ness. The teen was saying this and that and this and that, there was nothing wrong with it, it was normal for him to do that.

Too bad today wasn’t the right time for it.

“- And then we can go and -”

“Peter, stop.” Tony cut through the endless babbling. Peter was confused. Did he do something wrong?

“Mr Stark I -"

“Peter, please, for the love of God. Stop talking.” Now the teen is really starting to panic, did he annoy Mr Stark?

Stephen, who had been listening from the kitchen frowned.

“But I-”

“Peter, Please. I’m tired.” Stephen moved towards where they are, he has a bad feeling about this, “If you’re gonna talk so much then just- Leave!”

It was too late. He had said it and there was no taking it back. The words had taken its effect, the teen’s eyes were starting to get red.

The spider child didn’t bother to say anything else and simply ran towards the nearest exit.

“Peter-!” his hand reached out, but it was too late, the teen had already left.

What the hell did he just say? How could he say something like that? My God, he felt sick-

His knees went weak and he fell to the floor, “Tony!”

He was just like his father. He’s just as horrible as his father. He-

His thoughts spirald even further.

“-ny. -ony! Tony! Breath, follow my breathing, it’s okay, you didn’t mean it.” He hugged the broken man in his arms closely and whispered soft things into his ears, reassuring the other.

“You were having a bad day, you were tired. I understand everyone gets tired. It’s okay.”

“it’s not… It's not okay. I’m just as fucked up as my father-”

“NO! Tony, believe me, you are not your father. He’s not you, you are one of the kindest men I've ever met."

It took a few minutes more to calm down. They had managed to move to the sofa and after a while Peter returned (JARVIS called him). Tony explained that it wasn’t the teen’s fault, he had simply been in a bad mood since this morning and it had simply blown up.

After that the spider shield went to bed first. Stephen then pulled Tony to their bedroom to rest as well.

While the sorcerer had reassured him that he wasn’t his father, Tony still couldn’t get it off his mind. Thanks to that it resulted in him not being able to sleep.

Good thing that Stephen anticipated this since he also didn’t sleep, instead, he spoke, “Do you wanna talk about it?”

The older man looked at the younger one, “m… Nah.. it's stupid anyways”

“Tony… It’s not stupid. I care about you.”

“Yeah, well. It’s not even supposed to be that big of a deal.”

The younger male pondered his options, “I… was - am still -scared of loving someone, especially if they’re a male.

“My sister - Donna - I loved her so much. But she died. And it was all because I couldn’t help her. Had I been able to do a simple respiration she would still be alive now

“I’m scared of failing to protect the person I love…

“My father hated me after that incident. He and ma never really cared about me. Donna was their pride and joy. So after that incident… He would beat me up just because he hated to see me.

“It got even worse after he found out I’m bisexual. He called me all sorts of things while hitting me and telling me that no one would ever love someone like me.”

His voice trembled with each word and it broke off in the end.

Two strong arms wrapped around the shaking sorcerer. He didn’t even notice he had been crying.

“I’m sorry Stephen. No one should ever experience that. You should never have had to experience that…” he trailed off for a bit.

Stephen had trusted him with this vulnerable side of him, the least he could do was return it.

“Ever since I was born my father never cared about me. I tried to gain my father’s attention, I thought that if I were to show him how smart I am he would love me…

“Turns out dad only saw the potential to use me. He showed me off to the media like some sort of trophy then sent me off to a boarding school when I was 4.

“When I came back my father didn’t change a bit. He was still only interested in finding rogers. At that point I didn’t care, I had started drinking and doing so many horrible things I…

“I finally got the attention I wanted from my father… He started to hate me. By the end of it, before he died we had been on horrible terms with each other.

“He took my mom with him…”

By the time Tony finished they were back to hugging each other.

They felt safe in each other’s arms. To just- ignore the whole world for that moment.

They fell asleep still wrapped in each other’s arms.

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skits-things · 2 years ago

Text

Snitches and Stitches

A prompt from @darkkitty1208. They also betaed this work. Prompt: Stitches/Cold/Scars

Summary:

Leaning back more heavily into the wall, more on his uninjured side than his back, he grits his teeth and regulates his breathing. Blood loss, he thinks to himself.

Space is rather cold.

Stephen shivers as Levi draws closer around him. He can’t quite stop, but it’s easier to blame the environment than from his time under Maw’s hands.

He breathes out and almost expects to see mist emerge from his mouth. Then he remembers space doesn’t have the atmosphere for it. Whatever this ship has that allows for humans to survive in it, it’s not something akin to Earth’s atmospheric conditions.

Wincing, he efficiently strips enough to reach the gash in his side. The moment his robes are pulled away, it resumes bleeding. He’s grateful it was mostly on his back than his front. It’ll make it a bitch to reach and patch up, but at least Stark and the boy wouldn’t have been able to notice. Especially when Levi returned to their place on his shoulders.

Even his best attempts at steadying his hands are the worst he’s ever done, but he doesn’t need much more than his own focus to retrieve the necessary medical supplies. Even blind, deaf, and dumb, he’d likely know the shape of their existence better than himself.

Trembling, useless hands shake too much to thread the needle. Stabbing himself once, and then twice, Stephen snarls as he fights the urge to toss them away. Frustrated, he resorts to using his magic, but they shatter and fray when grasped.

He no longer fights the urge to hurl them across the room. Fisting his hands, the pain cuts clean through the fog of exhaustion over his mind. Stephen relishes in the clarity it brings him.

Levi wraps around his fingers, gently prying them apart. Lightly tapping the area around his injury, Stephen gets the point. Remember what this was for?

Stephen closes his eyes and swallows down the anger. The cloak is only trying to help. He tries to find a measure of calm. Treating himself while off balance is likely to do more harm than good. It’s more difficult than it should be to settle his thoughts, but nothing about this situation is regular.

Leaning back more heavily into the wall, more on his uninjured side than his back, he grits his teeth and regulates his breathing. Blood loss, he thinks to himself. Stephen’s sweating, but that might just be exertion from the fight. His heart rate’s up. If this goes on much longer it’ll reach 120 bpm.

When he feels more in control, he exhales harshly and summons a new set of surgical thread and needles. Together, with Levi holding his hands as still as they can (though even that is not anywhere close to-), Stephen twists around and stitches himself up one agonizing stitch at a time.

After it heals, the ragged gash will inevitably be another ugly scar on his patchwork body, but Stephen’s long become resigned to the hazards he faces as a sorcerer. It’s the penance he pays for the neglectful harm he’s committed in his medical career. At least these scars remain as proof. The multitudes of injuries Dormammu caused him only exists as they are seared into his memory.

He has to hurry. The boy and Stark are bound to notice his absence sooner rather than later.

“Dr. Strange, where have you been?” The kid asks, all newborn puppy enthusiasm as he bounces his way towards Stephen. “Mr. Stark says our ETA is another three hours.”

Stephen’s tempted to ignore him, but a glance at Stark rings alarm bells in his head. The chances of any of this working out is slim to none, but those chances tank if they can’t even work together. Stark’s not even looking at them, but Stephen suspects that if he doesn’t at least treat the boy politely, he’ll lose any chance of Stark being cooperative.

Not that those chances are high in the first place.

“Meditating.” Stephen tells him (his name is Peter, he reminds himself) and the boy’s eyes widen as if he’s told the secrets to magic than a mental exercise. Stephen lets Peter make his own conclusions. There’s no need to inform him of the details.

Stark’s ward, because whatever the official title is there’s no denying the sheer amount of care the man is exuding for his kid, chatters on about increasingly fantastical notions of what magic is and does. Stephen, because he’s never been able to stop himself, corrects Peter on every last detail he gets wrong with maybe too much vehemence.

Mystifyingly, the boy doesn’t so much as bat an eye, simply nodding with vigor and peppering Stephen with even more questions. He can’t quite help the fondness that rises up at the behavior. At least this explains why Stark is so attached to the kid. If Stephen, who’s been called every variation of cold-hearted icy-bastard there is under the sun, finds him endearing, it would take someone truly evil to hate him.

Stark watches them out of the corner of his eye for some time. Stephen continues responding to the kid, partially out of growing interest in Peter’s line of thought, and partially because it’s funny as fuck watching Stark twitch at every exclamation of admiration that comes out of Peter’s mouth. There’s not much else he can do to prepare for their upcoming battle. The ship’s moving too fast, and Stephen’s not actually sure what performing stationary magics while on a moving object will cause. He’ll have to do what he can when they arrive.

“Pete, come over here.” Stark calls out, and like gravity, the kid’s attention is immediately drawn to the man. Amused, Stephen watches Peter scurry towards Stark. He’s not sure what Stark’s so worried about. It’s clear the boy adores him. Peter’s interest in Stephen is merely temporary. Fascination with the new and strange. When this trip is over, the boy will inevitably forget about him.

Stephen ignores the nagging thought that none of them might return at all. He has sworn to protect the Time Stone, but he’s also a doctor. If there’s any chance he has at keeping the boy and Stark alive to go home while also keeping the stone safe, he’ll take it.

Stark sets Peter on some sort of task. It’s clearly more of a distraction than anything else, but somehow Stark spins it so Peter is working on something vitally important to the mission. For a moment, Stephen thinks that’s it. All Stark wanted was to keep Peter busy until they arrive.

But then Stephen feels eyes on him and looks over to see Stark watching him with contemplative eyes. Stark tilts his head in Stephen’s direction and raises his eyebrow in silent question. Stephen raises one right back, unsure of what the man’s asking.

Stark rolls his eyes and gestures at his own side, the respective location for where Stephen’s injury sits on his own body. Reflexively, Stephen narrows his eyes back, but winces internally at the giveaway.

Unimpressed, Stark gestures again, more insistently, and pointedly glances once in Peter’s direction.

You wouldn’t dare. Stephen glares the threat into Stark’s eyes and crosses his arms defensively. He barely knows the kid, but he’s sure that if Peter became aware Stephen was hurt, a bigger fuss than he’d like would be made. It already grates that Stark somehow noticed Stephen was injured in the first place.

Wouldn’t I? Stark looks back at him unimpressed.

Stephen scowls, but, with one eye on Peter in case the teen suddenly turns around, pulls back his robes just enough to flash the bandages underneath for a couple seconds.

Stark nods once, sharply, and returns to whatever he’s looking at on his screens.

Feeling unnervingly seen through, Stephen stalks to the closest wall and sinks back down into a meditation pose. That it’s the furthest point he can reach from Stark without looking like he’s running away is a coincidence.

And yet, somehow there’s gratitude welling up within him for Stark not making a spectacle of Stephen’s state. Maybe it’s because Stark didn’t notice until it was too late, but Stephen doubts it’s the case.

Ugh, it’s infuriating. Stephen doesn’t need to thank Stark for minding his own business. They’ll fight together, hopefully win, and go their separate ways.

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hayanwulf · 4 months ago

Text

Painful Flowers

Tony stared down at the scene in abject horror.

Flowers and petals pooled the entire floor of the room. The large four-poster bed had literally turned into a flower bed, comprising of flora unlike anything on Earth. Their shapes and colors were otherworldly, some colors unrecognizable even, each one of them possessing an unfathomable beauty.

And amidst it, covered in thorny vines and soft flowers, lay the cold, motionless body of Stephen Strange.

Tony had never hated flowers more in his life than he did right at that moment.

He slowly stepped in, his gut twisting into knots, senses repelled by the sweet, floral scent in the air, trying to ignore the way the petals felt squashy under his boots.

This had to be a nightmare. This had to be. Maybe if he punched himself now, he’d find himself back in his workshop, neck lying on his desk in an appalling angle that would pain him for the rest of the day; back in a world where, with just a quick call, the wizard would instantly show up at his workshop, walking out of a sparking portal with a haughty remark on his lips, his cloak fluttering on non-existent wind.

It was exactly a week ago that he had done just that.

Exactly a week ago when he had seemed fine. Or the week before that, during Tony and Pepper’s wedding. Or the week before that, when they had met up for their usual lunch date.

He had been completely fine.

There had been no outward signs. No coughing or concerning shortage of breath. No indications of a sad or downhearted mood. No traces of anything being wrong. No, he had simply been his usual self. Snarky, throwing playful banters around with Tony that they both found easy to engage in, sharp as a pencil with his comebacks, a trace of content satisfaction always wrapped around his aura whenever he was around Tony.

He could still recall the brightened expression in the sorcerer’s face when they had met last week, that small, genuine smile he had given Tony, his eyes sparkling with a special kind of attention which they didn’t seem to hold for many people in this world.

“Are you happy?” He had asked Tony, at the end of the day. “With you marriage?”

“Couldn’t imagine being happier,” Tony had replied, letting all of his contentment pour into his words.

“I’m happy for you, Tony.”

They hadn’t met after that day. Tony had sent a couple of texts, especially one about their missed lunch date on Wednesday, and had never gotten a reply. But that hadn’t raised any concerns or suspicions. Why would it have? They were superheroes, their lives were busy and unpredictable.

And now, a week later, Stephen lay lifelessly in his own bed, succumbed to Hanahaki.

Unpredicted in the most unpredictable way.

Tony dared to look down at the man’s face.

There was some scabbed blood at a corner of his lips, red-bathed flowers lying next to his head and on his neck from where he had obviously coughed them out of his lungs. Even in his frozen state, his eyebrows were a little tense, scrunched-up as though in pain.

It was very slow and very painful, Tony realized.

The thought made something squeeze painfully tight in his chest.

A blue butterfly sat on his nose, its wings opening and closing slowly. Tony had no way of knowing if it was supposed to be one of his magic butterflies, or if it had simply found its way in through some crack on the windows, allured by the fragrant flowers.

Sickening flowers.

There was a disturbing-looking thin, green vine coming out of the side of his eye. Thorns dotted the length of the vine, needle-thin and menacing.

He had wept thorny vines, not normal tears.

And it looked excruciating.

Tony hadn’t even known that was something possible in Hanahaki. Probably shouldn’t be. Probably had to do something with magic, the same magic that had resulted in all of these unrecognizable flowers Tony was staring down at, instead of normal, Earthly flowers.

“How..?” He asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Wong sighed softly from somewhere at his right. Tony didn’t care to look as the other sorcerer spoke, his eyes unable to leave the impossibly pale, lifeless man lying in front of him.

“According to the apprentices, he locked himself in a week ago. I was gone to another dimension the entire week. When I came back it was to learn that he hadn’t been seen around the entire time. It took me hours to break the spells he put up to ward his room.” A pause, then a tentative, “He left us sometime last night.”

Tony’s eyes stung as he took a step back, shaking his head in disbelief. This couldn’t be. It just couldn’t. Nothing made sense here. “He visited me a week ago. He was fine.” His words quivered.

“Don’t forget that he.. was, a powerful sorcerer. He’s been hiding his condition for a while.”

Tony snapped his head over to Wong, glaring at him through tears. “Not powerful enough to overcome fucking petal disease?”

He vibrated with anger. Whether that was towards Wong or the unmoving man on the bed or that fucked up disease, he didn’t know.

It didn’t make sense. You didn’t just die from Hanahaki, not in 21st century where you had effective solutions for symptom management and high-tech life support, where you had access to therapy and support communities and what-fucking-not. Very, very rarely did Hanahaki progress into a terminal stage in the modern world, and those were almost always cases where the person’s unrequited love or significant other had passed away, leaving them with no way of having a closure.

Wong’s own gaze was stuck on Stephen, eyes stricken with grief and what seemed like guilt. “Then maybe his love was more powerful than his magic.”

The comment made him recoil, his stomach twisting with a complicated mix of emotions he didn’t understand, his eyes moving back to the bed of flowers.

Stephen had never told him anything. He.. they had been friends. At least.. at least Tony had thought so.

Clearly, Stephen hadn’t shared the sentiment. Because Tony had never been told about this.. this soul-crushing love Stephen had held for someone in this world. He had sat next to Tony through tedious meetings about the Accords, had shared lunch with Tony every Wednesday, had taught Tony the endless wonders of magic, had made him love magic rather than fear it, had listened to Tony rant late at night about his latest inventions..

He had fought alongside Tony on Titan, had stayed with him through pain and hopelessness and victory. He had stood by Tony’s side as the government had welcomed Rogers back to the states and he had never left.

And yet.. yet he’d never trusted Tony enough to confide in him, to tell him that he held someone so close to his heart.

No, instead he had chosen to lock himself up in his room for the final days of his life, withering away as more and more tragically beautiful flowers sprouted out of his misery.

It stung.

It stung so bad, it constricted around Tony’s heart and lungs like a python’s death grip, dug its disgusting blackened claws deep into the crevices of his soul, made it hard to breathe as he attempted to suck in a ragged breath.

Suddenly the pain morphed, and a vengeful kind of anger rose, higher and higher until it was boiling just beneath his skin. He turned his eyes to Wong.

“Who?”

Wong closed his eyes in a pained movement, shaking his head. “It is not my place to tell.”

Between one moment and another, Tony had crossed over to the sorcerer, holding the neck of his tunic in a vicious grip, eyes fiercely glaring down at the other man. “Don’t fucking bullshit me, Wong,” he spat, voice almost a growl from the ferocious anger roaring inside of him. “He’s.. he’s gone and it doesn’t matter anymore whose place it is to tell! Who did he love?”

Wong did not wither under his gaze in the least. “And what will you do, once you learn their name?”

“I will give them a piece of my fucking mind,” he snarled. “I will tell them how despicable a person they are, for not accepting his love.” For rejecting the person who would have given them an endless repertoire of affection, who would have treated them with nothing less than utmost respect, who was possibly, quite literally, capable of plucking the moon and stars out of the sky on their command.

How fucking dare they not even give him a chance?

Tony would not forgive them. He would tell them exactly what they had done, what they had turned down.

To be entirely honest, he was currently in a state of mind where he would probably just uproot their entire life and personally make sure that they would never be able to experience love again.

Wong didn’t need to know that, however.

“And what if they didn’t know?”

Tony’s grip wavered a little. “What?”

“What if Stephen had never confessed his love, as you seem to assume.”

He looked at the sorcerer from one eye to the other, feeling his own eyebrows crease progressively. “He would.”

Wong shook his head. “He didn’t.”

Tony abruptly released the sorcerer, stepping back as frustration boiled in his chest. “He would. Why wouldn’t he? If he loved them so much..” If he loved them enough to reach the terminal stage of Hanahaki, to not seek treatment in time.. surely, that meant that he had confessed his love to them?

Nobody died of Hanahaki. Nobody wanted to die — well, except suicidal people, but they didn’t necessarily go seeking out Hanahaki for that particularly. Nobody would.

Hanahaki was cruel. It was torture, the worst kind of body horror. It slowly turned your insides into flowers, pretty and fragrant and absolutely sardonic with the way it birthed beauty out of your despair, making you feel every bit of agony as you lost parts of yourself bit by bit, quite literally.

So no, there was no way Stephen would’ve wanted that. Surely, he’d have tried to court his love first before giving up so hopelessly, right?

“He had his reasons, Stark,” Wong said, and Tony couldn’t believe this. No. He couldn’t take this anymore.

What fucking reason warranted preferring to die over never getting over, nor confessing his love?

Why?

He wanted to walk over to Stephen, grab his shoulders by force and shake him, maybe slap him a few until he expelled all the answers. God, he wished he could do that right now.

‘I’m happy for you, Tony.’

He wished he had asked Stephen at that moment, if he was happy.

He wished he could rewind time. Wished he could go back to the previous week and ask exactly that. And then pin the sorcerer down in his workshop, not let him leave, plug him to a life support right then and there and bully him into accepting treatment.

He wished he could just.. talk to him.

About all the damn questions and mysteries swirling in Tony’s mind. About everything that Tony should have talked about, sooner. About why Stephen thought that his love for this person was important enough to give up his life for.

Why.

Why..

Damn it, Stephen.

His legs gave out and he crumpled to the floor, thick, hot tears streaming down his face. His hand touched the floor, and caught the silken texture of petals. He clamped his fist over them until it hurt, feeling the sickening velvet getting crushed in his grip.

The blue butterfly that had been giving Stephen company, fluttered down to Tony and settled on his thigh, almost as though trying to provide him a soothing touch with its weightless wings. One last piece of Stephen, trying to tell him, it’s okay.

It was the only semblance of comfort.

And an absolute joke of a closure.

Because he knew nothing. He had no answers, and now, he would never have the chance to obtain them.

#ironstrange #stephen strange #tony stark #hanahaki #major character death #hurt no comfort #fic #mcu fanfiction #hayans tumblr shorts

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