Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was a golden-hued evening in New York. The amber glow of the setting sun spilled through the windows of Sanctum Café, casting long shadows across the mosaic-tiled floor. The soft hum of jazz music played in the background as the smell of roasted espresso beans and warm pastries filled the air.

Behind the polished counter stood Stephen, the café’s cheerful barista. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing slender wrists dusted with flour and coffee grains. With a soft smile, he handed over a latte to the customer waiting at the counter.

“Anything else, sir?” he asked politely, his voice warm with practiced charm.

“No, that’s all,” the man replied, flashing a flirty smile. “Seeing you is enough.”

Stephen’s smile didn’t falter. “That’s so nice of you, sir. Have a good day.”

Compliments like that were common. Stephen Strange was beautiful in an almost delicate way—porcelain skin, ocean-deep blue eyes, and soft brown hair that curled ever so slightly around his ears. Customers flirted, some respectfully, some offensively. The attention never fazed him unless it turned physical. He’d learned to navigate the thin line between customer service and personal discomfort. He had to—rent, tuition, and bills didn’t pay themselves. A full-time medical student at Columbia and a scholarship kid from nowhere, this café job, aside from his aid, kept his world spinning.

From the kitchen door, Wong, the café’s gruff but kind-hearted owner, stepped out and eyed Stephen with concern.

“Stephen, aren’t your exams going on? You can leave early. We’ll manage,” he said, arms crossed.

Stephen shook his head, wiping the counter. “I need the pay for extra hours, Wong.”

“Your pay isn’t being cut, smartass. Go and study,” Wong said, nudging him gently.

Stephen chuckled. “Thanks. I’ll leave after I finish this order.”

Wong rolled his eyes. “Alright, alright.”

Stephen had met Wong through his best friend, Christine. After hearing Stephen’s story—one filled with silent pain and unspoken abandonment—Wong had offered him this job and, over time, a form of brotherly care.

Stephen turned to the new customer standing at the counter. “Please, tell me your order, sir.”

But before the man could respond—

BANG!

A deafening gunshot shattered the calm. The café erupted into chaos. Plates crashed to the ground. People screamed, knocking over chairs as they scrambled toward the exit.

Two large men barged in, armed and imposing. Between them walked a man in a dark, finely cut suit, his presence impossible to ignore. Tony Stark. The name sent chills down the spines of criminals and civilians alike. The mob boss—one who ruled not just New York’s underworld but reached into politics, global trade, and the shadows no one dared speak of.

One of the goons grabbed the man beside Stephen.

“Tony, please don’t kill me,” the man begged. “It was a mistake!”

Tony smirked. “You really thought you could run from me?” His voice was smooth, charismatic—even charming—except for the blade of menace that laced every word.

“I won’t do it again! I won’t even come near you!” the man cried, frantic.

“I’m making sure you don’t,” Tony said, pulling a gun from under his coat.

Without a moment’s hesitation, he pressed it to the man’s forehead—and pulled the trigger.

Bang.

The shot echoed again. Blood sprayed across the counter, splattering onto Stephen’s stunned face. He didn’t move. Couldn’t move. His breath caught in his throat, eyes frozen in wide, pale horror.

Tony adjusted his cuffs and turned to the café.

“Don’t worry. My men will clean it up. Just pretend you didn’t see anything,” he said casually, like this was a Tuesday afternoon errand.

As he turned to leave, his gaze locked with Stephen’s.

The barista’s chest rose and fell with short, panicked breaths. Blood ran down his cheek, his hands trembling at his sides.

Tony stopped. Something about the boy—those eyes. Like broken glass under moonlight. Beautiful. Terrified.

He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a soft hand towel. Slowly, he walked up to the counter.

Stephen flinched as the man approached, but he didn’t resist.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Tony said softly, almost sweetly.

He reached out and wiped the blood from Stephen’s face with a surprising tenderness.

“Your pretty face looks even prettier like this,” he murmured, “but not with this traitor’s blood.”

Stephen couldn’t speak. Couldn’t blink. He just stared at the devil in a suit, feeling like a moth stuck under a magnifying glass.

Tony smiled faintly and tapped Stephen’s cheek. “Be good, sweetheart.”

Then he turned and walked out of the café, just as calmly as he had entered.

Stephen stood frozen.

Wong rushed to his side, gripping his shoulders. “Stephen, are you okay?”

“I… I want to go home,” Stephen whispered, eyes still blank.

“I’ll take you home,” Wong said quickly, wrapping an arm around him and guiding him out the back.

At Stephen’s shared apartment, Christine Palmer opened the door. Her face crumpled in worry when she saw Stephen’s bloodstained shirt and vacant stare.

“What happened?!” she gasped.

“Let him lie down. I’ll explain,” Wong said.

They helped Stephen to his bed. Christine stayed beside him while Wong sat her down and told her everything.

“Tony Stark committed a murder in your café?” Christine whispered, aghast.

Wong nodded grimly.

“Why didn’t you report it?”

“Christine, you don’t report Tony Stark. You pray he never remembers your name. He owns half the city’s officials.”

Christine looked toward the bedroom. “Poor Stephen. He must be terrified.”

“He is. Let him rest. Let him study. Exams are next week, right?”

Christine nodded.

“Let him finish them. After that, he has to leave the city.”

“But he can’t go home,” she said.

“Anywhere but here, Christine. Tony Stark noticed him.”

Later that night, Christine crept into Stephen’s room, where he lay curled up under the covers.

“Hey. You okay?” she asked gently, stroking his hair.

Stephen’s voice was a hoarse whisper. “He killed someone in front of me, Christy. That man… he’s a monster.”

“You’re okay. You’re safe. He won’t come back here.”

“Will you stay?” he asked, looking so small and fragile in that moment.

Christine slid into bed beside him. “Always. Now sleep.”

Stephen curled into her, clutching her shirt like a child. Only then did his trembling finally stop.

Across the city, inside the penthouse suite of Stark Tower, Tony leaned back on his bed. His shirt was unbuttoned, and a glass of scotch sat untouched beside him.

Blood, fear, death—none of it was new. Faces blurred. Screams faded. But not that boy. Not those eyes.

He closed his own eyes and saw the image of Stephen frozen in place—vulnerable, pale, and absolutely exquisite.

He wanted him.

Not just for a night—though that too, of course—but something deeper clawed at him. Possessive. Obsessive.

“Rogers.” His voice rang out.

Steve Rogers, his ever-loyal bodyguard, appeared at the door.

“Boss?”

“The boy from the café. I want him. Bring him to me.”

“Understood.”

“But don’t harm him,” Tony said sharply, voice edged with threat. “Not a scratch.”

Steve nodded. “I’ll bring him.”

The next morning, Steve and James Rhodes—another trusted enforcer—arrived at the Sanctum Café.

Wong eyed them warily. “What can I do for you, gentlemen?”

“Where’s the boy from yesterday?” Steve asked directly.

“He left early. I don’t know where he is.”

“Name?”

“Stephen,” Wong replied cautiously.

“Stephen what?”

Wong hesitated, then answered, “Stephen... Strange.”

“What else do you know? Where does he live?”

“I don’t know anything. He just started here last week,” Wong said, palms raised.

Steve stepped closer. “You hired someone you know nothing about?”

“He needed the job,” Wong said evenly.

Steve narrowed his eyes. “If you’re lying, you’ll end up like that man yesterday.”

They left, but Wong wasted no time. He called Christine immediately.

“Christine. Stark’s men came looking for Stephen.”

“Oh god. Why?”

“I don’t know. But listen—keep him inside. Once his exams are over, send him away. Far.”

“He can’t go home—”

“Just keep him safe. Do not tell him.”

Christine swallowed. “Okay.”

Back at Stark Tower, Tony paced like a lion denied its prey.

When Steve and Rhodey returned empty-handed, his face turned cold.

“Where is he?” he asked.

“Gone,” Steve replied. “Café owner claims not to know anything.”

“But we got his name,” Rhodey added.

Tony turned. “Well?”

“Stephen Strange,” Rhodey said.

Tony smiled slowly. “Pretty name for a pretty face.”

He turned toward his room.

“I’m going to the café myself tomorrow. The owner’s lying. I’ll get the truth.”

Lying on his king-sized bed, Tony thought about those blue eyes and plump lips. He imagined how they would look wrapped around him, how that pretty face would be painted not with blood, but with his cum. Tony felt a tightness in his pants. He wanted the boy, and there was no argument about that.

This wasn’t a want. It was a need.

And Tony Stark always got what he wanted.

Chapter Text

Morning light bled through the curtains of Christine’s apartment, casting a soft glow over the cluttered living room where open textbooks and coffee cups lay forgotten. The air still smelled faintly of lavender and last night’s fear.

Stephen stood at the small mirror near the hallway, brushing back his hair and straightening the collar of his café uniform. His fingers hesitated near the buttons, his reflection revealing the bruise-like shadows under his eyes. But he forced a smile.

He had to work. Fear didn’t pay tuition.

“Stephen, where are you going?” Christine’s voice came from the kitchen, lined with worry.

He turned, smile strained but resolute. “I’m going to the café.”

Christine looked at him, frowning. “Stephen… you’ve been through something terrible. Just rest.”

“I’ve rested enough. Sitting around won’t make me forget what I saw. And… I need the money, Christy.”

“But our exams—”

“I’m ready for them,” he said, grabbing his bag. “I just need revision time. I’ll study after my shift.”

Christine moved to block the door. “Please don’t go. Stay today.”

Stephen’s smile faltered. “I’m fine, Christine. Really. I promise I won’t talk to anyone. Just coffee, tips, and back home.”

She didn’t have the heart to tell him the truth—that Stark’s men were after him. That his return to the café might not be harmless at all.

As the door clicked shut behind him, Christine snatched her phone and dialed.

“Wong. He’s on his way. I tried. I swear I did.”

“What? Christine, I told you to keep him inside, it's dangerous” Wong hissed.

Before she could reply, Wong froze as a cold, familiar voice spoke from the other side of the room.

“What’s dangerous for whom?”

Wong turned, his heart sinking.

Tony Stark stood by the door, surrounded by his shadows—Steve Rogers and James Rhodes.

Wong’s mouth went dry. “M-Mr. Stark… how can I help you?”

Tony’s lips curled into a smirk. “You know exactly how you can help me, Wong.”

“I swear, I don’t—”

“Don’t lie to me,” Tony said, still smiling, but his eyes had lost their humor. “I don’t want to do things I’ll regret. Tell me where he is.”

“I really don’t know,” Wong said again, a note of desperation in his voice.

Tony gave a sigh of theatrical disappointment. “You’re testing my patience.”

“Rogers. Rhodes. Make him talk.”

Steve grabbed Wong by the collar and slammed him against the counter. Rhodey’s gun was already out, cold metal against Wong’s ribs.

“Where is he?” Steve growled.

And then—

“Wong, I’m sorry I’m late.”

The door creaked open, the soft jingle of the bell ringing as Stephen stepped inside, looking down at his phone. He froze mid-step.

His eyes widened in horror.

“Wong! What are you—”

Tony turned, his predatory smile returning like the flick of a switch.

“Hey, gorgeous. I’ve been waiting for you.”

Stephen’s stomach churned.

“Let him go,” Stephen said, voice trembling.

Tony raised his hands innocently. “We will. But first... I’d like a word. In private.”

Before Stephen could respond, the café had already emptied. Steve and Rhodey moved fast, locking the door behind them. Silence fell.

Stephen sat opposite Stark at a corner booth, his heart pounding in his chest. Across the table, Tony looked completely at ease—one hand draped over the backrest, the other lazily spinning a spoon on the table.

“So, Stephen. Tell me about yourself.”

Stephen blinked. “What?”

“Just talk. Consider it... an interview.”

“For what?” he asked warily.

Tony tilted his head. “I know you’re a college student. You need money. You’re working in this dump to survive. I can help.”

Stephen narrowed his eyes. “You’re offering me a job?”

“Yes. You’ll be mine. My toy. My warmth at night. My little plaything.”

Stephen’s blood turned to ice.

“You’re joking.”

Tony’s smirk widened. “No, sweetheart. You’d live in luxury. More than anything this city could ever give you. All I want in return… is you. Your mouth. Your body. Your submission.”

Stephen’s face flushed red with rage. “I’m not a whore.”

“No. You’re not,” Tony said, voice calm. “But desperation changes people.”

Stephen stood, fists clenched.

“You’re disgusting.”

Tony chuckled. “And yet here you are.”

He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a cold whisper. “How many friends do you have, Stephen?”

Stephen froze.

“Think about what happens when they start dropping like flies. Wong. Christine. The man down the street who smiles at you every morning. All because you said no.”

“You’re a monster,” Stephen said, eyes glittering with unshed tears.

“I’ve heard that a lot,” Tony said casually, sipping the coffee someone else had once made.

A pause.

“So. What’s your decision?”

Stephen was silent, lips trembling. His voice came out broken. “How long would I need to… work for you?”

Tony shrugged. “Until I get bored.”

He gave a wicked grin. “Don’t worry, you’re not that special. Unless, of course… you want to be my permanent slut.”

Stephen stared at him, shaking.

“You’ve said enough,” he whispered. “Get out.”

Tony stood and walked around the table. He reached down and grabbed Stephen’s chin, his grip harsh, eyes boring into him.

“One last thing, pretty boy. Learn to respect your alpha… or things will get messy.”

With that, Tony turned and walked out, the door swinging closed behind him.

Stephen crumpled into the booth seat, breathing hard, face throbbing where Stark’s fingers had pressed.

Wong rushed to his side the moment the coast was clear.

“Stephen. You need to leave. Now.”

Stephen looked up, tears slipping down his cheeks. “I can’t. He said he’d hurt you. Christine. Everyone I care about.”

“Then what are you going to do?” Wong asked, voice low, tight with dread.

Stephen’s answer came like a death sentence.

“I’m going to take the offer.”

Wong’s breath caught.

“Stephen, he’ll hurt you. He’ll ruin you.”

“I know.” Stephen’s voice was shaking. “But it’s the only way I can keep you all safe.”

Wong pulled him into a hug, strong and protective, like an older brother shielding what little innocence Stephen had left.

“I won’t let you face this alone,” Wong whispered.

But Stephen had already begun to disappear—his eyes distant, his heart breaking, as the door closed on the life he once knew.

And somewhere in the city, Tony Stark smiled.

Because his pretty blue-eyed boy had just taken the first step into his gilded cage.

“Tony, how many times have I told you? Violence isn’t the only way to solve problems,” Pepper snapped, her voice slicing through the silence of the room like a blade. “And you killed a man. In a public place?”

Tony leaned back in his chair, unfazed, his fingers steepled under his chin. The room still reeked of smoke and blood—remnants of the chaos he’d left behind just an hour ago.

“Pep, this isn’t the first time I’ve killed someone,” he said, almost casually. “He betrayed me. This should be a lesson to anyone who even thinks about messing with Stark.”

Her eyes widened, appalled. “If he betrayed you, we could’ve handled it legally. You don’t get to decide who lives or dies—”

“I’m not a hero or a saint, Pep,” he interrupted coldly, rising to his feet. The sharp gleam in his eyes was anything but remorse. “I’m the devil the press talks about. Everything I earned—this empire, my power, my name—it came through bloodshed. You can’t change me. And if you ever thought you could... you were dreaming.”

Pepper stared at him, stunned and silent. There was no reaching the man in front of her—not anymore. He had long since buried the man she once loved beneath armor, vengeance, and a twisted sense of justice. Without another word, she turned and walked out, her heels clicking like gunshots on the marble floor.

The room fell into silence.

Tony sighed and turned to the comm panel. “Rogers. Who’s warming my bed tonight?”

Steve’s voice crackled through. “Boss, there’s a very hot omega girl from—”

“Nope,” Tony cut him off. “I want Stephen. Go and get him.”

There was a beat of hesitation, then, “Okay, boss.”

Stephen sat curled on the edge of his bed, his knuckles white from how hard he gripped the edge of the mattress. His heart felt like it was pounding against glass, moments away from shattering. The walls of the room seemed to close in around him, each breath harder to take than the last.

He kept waiting to wake up. Kept hoping he’d open his eyes and find himself safe in another life, another world—one where Tony Stark wasn’t a monster, and he wasn’t... this—a prize to be claimed.

“Steph, you still have time,” Christine whispered from the doorway, her voice thick with worry. “Leave New York. Save yourself.”

He shook his head, tears springing to his eyes. “No. If I run, he’ll come after you. And Wong. I can’t let that happen.”

“Stephen... what about Nic? He’s your boyfriend.”

At the sound of Nic’s name, Stephen flinched like he’d been struck. “Don’t tell him,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “Not yet. He’s all I have.”

Christine knelt in front of him, taking his hands in hers. “Then tell him, Steph. Don’t keep this in. You don’t have to face this alone.”

But Stephen couldn’t stop the sob that broke free. He covered his mouth, ashamed of the sound. Christine pulled him into her arms, holding him as he cried.

“I’m so sorry,” she murmured. “You don’t deserve this.”

The doorbell rang.

Christine stiffened, brushing Stephen’s hair back gently before standing up. “I’ll go check.”

She walked to the door and opened it slowly. Two tall, muscular men in suits stood at the threshold—one of them unmistakably Steve Rogers, Tony’s right-hand man. His jaw was clenched. Behind him stood another silent figure, his stance rigid and ready.

Christine’s voice was firm. “Who are you?”

Steve met her eyes. “We’re here to take Stephen to our boss. Where is he?”

Before she could answer, Stephen appeared behind her.

“I’m ready,” he said softly.

Christine turned, eyes wide. “Steph, think this through.”

“I have, Christy,” he said, already stepping past her.

His face was calm. Resigned.

And that broke her more than any tears could.

As the men led him away into the night, Christine stood frozen at the door, a hand pressed to her mouth. She knew what kind of man Tony Stark was. And she knew—deep down—that Stephen wasn’t coming back the same, if he came back at all.

During the car ride, Stephen was nervous, not knowing what Stark had in store for him.When they reached the infamous Stark Tower, his heart raced.

The two muscular men led him to a large hall where he saw Stark sitting in his armchair wearing a finest red robe around his body.

"Welcome, pretty one. I’ve been waiting for you," Tony said with his usual smirk.
Stark snapped his fingers, and everyone left the room.
"Strip," Stark growled.
"What?" Stephen asked, unsure.
"I said strip," Tony repeated.
Stephen felt humiliated, but he had no choice. He slowly began unbuttoning his shirt.He hesitated before removing his bottom wear.
"Need help?" Stark asked, smirking.
Stephen said no and continued removing his pants. He was going to remove his underwear as well.
"Stop and crawl to me" Tony said.
Stephen did what he said. Tears were spilling from his eyes. He stopped in his knees in front of Stark's crotch.Stark cupped his cheek with one hand while the unzipped himself.
"You have done this before? Don't you?" Stark asked.
Stephen nodded his head.
"Great, I knew it, you're a cock-slut" Tony said chuckling
"I'm not" Stephen said in a growl.
"Oh, look at that. Screeching like a kitty cat. Come here and show daddy how good your licks and mewls are." Tony said.
Stephen didn't move. He stayed there like that.
"Okay, I think, I should make you" Stark said grabbing his head and pulling him to his crotch
Stephen reluctantly started licking his big thick cock. He slowly swallowed it moving slowly.
"That's it baby boy. Keep going." Stark said moaning.
Stephen increased his pace and gagged on his cock. Stark's moans and growls were making Stephen out of his mind. He started sucking on it.
"Yes, I'm there. Hold still" Stark said.
The loads of cum shoot to Stephen's mouth. Stark sighed and made Stephen look at him.
"Wow, you're are great at this, Stephen. And look at you, all covered in daddy's cum" Tony said chuckling
Stark made him sit on his lap and gave a tissue to wipe his face.
"Can I go home?" Stephen asked in gravelly voice.
"Yes, you can. But I'm not done with you. Tomorrow, at the same time" Stark said.
Stephen nodded and was going to leave. But Stark grabbed his hair and pulled him to his lips.
"Give me a kiss like a slut you're" Tony growled.
Stephen kissed him. Tony made it filthy with teeth and tongues. When they pulled away, Stephen was all red with embarrassment.
"Go home. Pepper will give you your payment" Stark said slapping his ass.
Stephen nodded and dressed quickly, eager to leave the room. Outside, Pepper was standing.

The corridor was too bright. Artificial light pooled across the polished glass table, casting sharp reflections that made it hard for Stephen to look anywhere without seeing himself—tired, broken, and out of place.

Pepper walked in, composed as ever, though her heels clicked with a hesitation she rarely displayed. In her hand, she held an envelope—pristine, thin, and damning.

“Here’s your check,” she said quietly, placing it on the table in front of him. Her voice was flat, carefully neutral. But her eyes—they were heavy with guilt.

Stephen didn’t respond. He picked up the envelope with a trembling hand, barely able to meet her gaze. The paper felt colder than it should have, like it carried the weight of something far heavier than money. He turned to leave, not trusting himself to say anything.

“Stephen,” Pepper called out softly.

He stopped at the door, his back still turned. She stood a few feet away, her expression full of something that looked dangerously close to regret.

“I’m sorry,” she said, voice low.

Stephen turned, finally meeting her eyes. His voice cracked as he asked, “Why do you work for that monster?”

It wasn’t a question meant to hurt her. It was raw confusion, desperation, disbelief wrapped in grief. How could someone like her—smart, kind, principled—stand beside him?

Pepper’s face shifted ever so slightly. Not defensiveness. Not shame. Something else.

“I owe it to SI,” she replied simply.

Stark Industries. The legacy. The people. The past. She didn’t elaborate, and Stephen didn’t ask her to. He didn’t want to understand. Not anymore. Because understanding meant justifying, and there was no justification for what Tony Stark had done—to him, to others, to the city that still trembled beneath the shadow of his empire.

Stephen looked at her for a long moment, then shook his head. “You’re not the one who’ll pay for it,” he said quietly.

She blinked, startled.

But Stephen was already gone—walking out of the glass prison that towered over New York, the envelope clenched tightly in his hand like a final insult. The lobby doors hissed open as he stepped into the cold evening air, not once looking back.

Up above, the tower gleamed like a crown.

But Stephen? He only felt the weight of chains.

Chapter Text

It had been five nights with Stark. He made Stephen perform acts he never imagined and handed him a check after each encounter. Stephen was exhausted from these degrading experiences. He lay on his bed, drained, when Christine approached him.
"Steph, why haven’t you been picking up Nic’s calls? He’s been calling me every day," Christine said.
"What would I even tell him, Christine? That I’ve started prostituting myself for money?" Stephen asked, his voice filled with bitterness.
"Stephen, you should talk to him. You don’t have to say anything about Stark. But he’s going to be worried if you keep ignoring him," Christine urged.
"What should I say to him?" Stephen asked hopelessly.
"Just tell him you’ve been studying for exams. Here, call him," Christine said, handing him the phone.
Stephen hesitated but eventually dialed his boyfriend.
"Hello, Nic?" Stephen said in a small voice.
"Hey, are you okay? You sound off," Nic’s concerned voice came from the other side.
"No, I’m alright," Stephen replied, trying to sound normal.
"Okay. I’m back from Florida. Can we meet this evening? I miss you so much," Nic said.
"Yes, sure," Stephen said softly.
"Alright, I’ll see you at the Sanctum, then?" Nic asked.
"Yes, I’ll be there," Stephen confirmed.
"Okay, love you. See you soon," Nic said before hanging up.
"What did he say?" Christine asked.
"He wants to meet this evening," Stephen said quietly.
"You should go," Christine encouraged.
"But Stark has demanded I come to him tonight. I’m scared, Christine. His men are watching me. What if he finds out about Nic and does something to him?" Stephen's voice trembled.
"Steph, don’t you read the news? Stark never sticks to one person for long. He’ll get bored of you soon and move on to someone else. Just play along for a few more days. At least you’re being paid well," Christine said, sounding pragmatic.
"He’s raping me, Christine," Stephen sobbed, unable to hold back his tears.
"I’m sorry... but what can we do? There’s nothing we can do, right?" Christine said, her voice laced with helplessness.
Christine was right. There was nothing Stephen could do. The only thing left was to accept his fate.

That evening, Stephen went to meet Nic at the café. When he arrived, Nic was already waiting for him.
"Hey, baby, you look exhausted. Have you been studying all night?" Nic asked, cupping Stephen’s face with concern.
"Uh... yes," Stephen replied, unsure of himself.
"I missed you so much," Nic said, leaning in for a kiss.
But Stephen flinched. The memory of Stark’s rough, filthy kisses came flooding back, and he recoiled instinctively.
"Hey, what’s wrong? Are you okay?" Nic asked, noticing Stephen’s discomfort.
"Yes, I’m just... tired," Stephen lied.
"Alright. Tell me about your week," Nic said, sitting down beside him on the bench, their bodies close.
"Nothing really happened," Stephen said flatly.
"Is that so? Don’t you want to hear about my trip to Florida?" Nic asked, trying to lighten the mood.
Stephen nodded but wasn’t really listening. As Nic spoke, his arm draped over Stephen’s shoulder, his other hand resting on Stephen’s thigh. Slowly, it began to inch upward, and panic rose inside Stephen. Without thinking, he pushed Nic’s hand away.
"Steph, what’s wrong?" Nic asked, his voice full of concern.
"Nic, I should go. I’m not feeling well, and I need to study," Stephen said, trying to escape the situation.
"Okay... call me when you're free," Nic said, clearly confused by Stephen's odd behavior.
When Stephen returned to his room, Stark’s men were already waiting for him. He silently went with them to the tower.

It had been five nights. Five long, degrading nights in Stark Tower.

Stephen had stopped counting after the third. Each night, Stark had made him do things he never imagined—things that left him hollow, shame pooling in the spaces where his spirit used to live. And each time, without fail, he was handed an envelope afterward. Crisp paper, the weight of money, like a thank-you note after a nightmare.

Stephen didn’t even bother opening them anymore.

He lay on his bed now, staring at the ceiling as if it might offer some kind of answer. His body ached in places he didn’t want to acknowledge, and his soul felt like it was bruised beyond repair.

A knock on the door broke the silence.

Christine entered, holding her phone. Her face was tight with concern.

“Steph, why haven’t you been picking up Nic’s calls?” she asked gently. “He’s been calling me every day.”

Stephen turned his face away, shame rising like bile. “What would I even tell him, Christine?” he whispered, voice bitter and cracked. “That I’ve started prostituting myself for money?”

Christine’s heart broke a little at the pain in his voice. She sat on the edge of the bed and placed a soft hand on his knee.

“Stephen, you don’t have to say anything about Stark. But Nic is going to be worried if you keep ignoring him. Just talk to him. Say you’ve been busy with exams.”

“What should I say to him?” Stephen asked, eyes glassy. “That I’m scared to be touched?”

“Just keep it simple. Here—call him,” she said, placing her phone in his hand.

He hesitated, his thumb hovering over the screen. After a long pause, he finally dialed.

“Hello, Nic?” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Hey, are you okay? You sound off,” Nic’s voice came through the speaker, warm and concerned.

“No, I’m alright,” Stephen lied, trying to pull his voice together, to stitch something of himself back long enough to make it through the call.

“I’m back from Florida. Can we meet this evening? I miss you so much.”

Stephen closed his eyes. His heart ached at the softness in Nic’s voice. “Yes, sure,” he murmured.

“Alright. I’ll see you at the Sanctum, then?”

“Yes. I’ll be there.”

“Okay, love you. See you soon.”

The call ended.

“What did he say?” Christine asked quietly.

“He wants to meet this evening.”

“You should go.”

Stephen looked at her, panic starting to take root in his chest. “But Stark’s men… they’re watching me. He’s demanded I come tonight. What if he finds out about Nic and hurts him? Christine, I know what he’s capable of.”

“Steph…” Christine paused, choosing her words carefully. “You read the news. Stark never sticks to one person for long. He’ll get bored. Just play along a little longer. At least you’re being paid well.”

Stephen flinched.

“He’s raping me, Christine,” he choked out suddenly, the words rushing like a wave he couldn’t hold back. His voice cracked as he began to sob. “And you’re talking about money?”

Christine’s face crumpled. “I’m sorry…” she whispered, her voice breaking. “But what can we do? There’s nothing we can do. Right?”

Stephen didn’t answer. He just cried. Because she was right.

There was nothing he could do.

That evening, Stephen walked to the café near the Sanctum. He had chosen the long route, dragging his feet, wishing for rain—anything to delay the meeting he both wanted and feared.

When he arrived, Nic was already there, waiting on a bench, looking freshly showered, his smile lighting up as he spotted Stephen.

“Hey, baby. You look exhausted,” Nic said, standing to cup Stephen’s face with warm hands. “Have you been studying all night?”

Stephen tried to smile. “Uh… yes.”

Nic leaned in to kiss him.

But Stephen flinched—so sharply it startled both of them.

In his mind, Stark’s mouth was there again. Rough, greedy, unrelenting. He could still feel the ghost of it on his skin, and the bile rose in his throat before he could stop it.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Nic asked, stepping back, eyes full of confusion and worry.

“I’m just… tired,” Stephen mumbled, staring at the ground.

Nic nodded, concerned but trying not to pry. “Alright. Tell me about your week.”

Stephen sat stiffly beside him, folding into himself. “Nothing really happened.”

“Nothing? You don’t want to hear about my Florida trip?”

Stephen nodded again, but he wasn’t really there. He wasn’t hearing the stories, wasn’t laughing at Nic’s jokes. He was just surviving the moment.

Nic’s arm came around his shoulders. His other hand rested on Stephen’s thigh, a familiar, tender touch meant to comfort.

But Stephen froze.

That hand… Stark’s hands. The touches, the force, the way he couldn’t say no without being punished.

In a panic, Stephen shoved Nic’s hand away.

Nic recoiled in surprise. “Steph? What’s wrong?”

“I—I should go. I’m not feeling well,” Stephen said, standing abruptly. “I have to study. I’m sorry.”

“Okay… call me when you're free?” Nic asked softly, confused, heartbroken.

Stephen didn’t answer. He just nodded and walked away.

When he returned home, Stark’s men were already waiting in the hallway. Dark suits, cold expressions. They didn’t speak.

Stephen didn’t resist.

He followed them silently into the waiting car, leaving behind the last piece of himself.

Because that’s what Tony Stark wanted.

And Stephen had learned, far too quickly, that in this world, want was law—and love had no power here.

As always, Stark was sitting in his armchair, watching him.
Stephen removed his shirt and pants and kneeled before Stark, as he'd been trained to do.
"Nope, get up. I think you're ready for something different tonight," Stark said with a twisted smile.
Stephen stood there, confused.
"Come," Stark commanded, tapping his thigh.
Reluctantly, Stephen walked over and sat on Stark’s lap, bracing himself for whatever came next.
"Your pretty mouth is good at taking my cock. Now I want to know, how good is your hole to take me" Stark said.
His hands were groping Stephen's ass. His hand slowly went inside Stephen's boxers. He started playing with his hole.
"Ahh" Stephen moaned.
"You're already wet for daddy, baby boy" Stark said chuckling.
He continued teasing Stephen's hole by gently massaging it.
Stephen moaned again.
"What do you want, slut?" Tony asked smirking.
"Please" Stephen moaned overwhelmed with pleasure.
"Use your words, bitch" Stark said.
"Please stop teasing me" Stephen said moaning more.
"And?" Stark asked rubbing fastly.
"I want more." Stephen said
He doesn't want it. But Stark's teasing was doing things to his body.
"You want daddy's cock? Of course you will get baby boy." Stark said.
He pulled out his cock.
"Sit on me" Stark said
Stephen sat on Stark's cock slowly. The pain of stretching out made his eyes teary. He isn't enjoying any of this. But he has no way.
Stephen continued his action.
"Oh, you're too good baby boy. You're taking daddy's cock very well." Stark said growling.
Stephen doesn't why his body is enjoying this, but he can't help it. He ended up with the best orgasm he had, while Stark's load entered him.
Stephen leaned to Stark's shoulder, while Stark bit his neck.
"You did great" Stark said with that sinister smile.
"I think, I have so many things to explore on you" He said.
Stephen stood up and dressed quickly.

“Uh, I… I need a week off from this,” Stephen said, his voice barely steady. His fingers clutched the hem of his sleeves, nails digging into the fabric.

Tony Stark didn’t even look up at first. He was seated on a leather armchair, one leg crossed lazily over the other, glass of whiskey in hand, the ice barely clinking. When he did meet Stephen’s eyes, his expression was unreadable—void of interest, void of empathy.

“Why?” he asked flatly.

Stephen swallowed. “My exams… they start tomorrow. They'll go on until next week. I just need a break—to study. Please.”

Tony leaned forward slowly, resting the glass on the side table. “No.”

Stephen blinked. “Why not? I’m doing all this for my studies. You said—” his voice wavered “—you said this was for my education…”

“I never said that,” Tony said coolly. His words were sharp, cruel. “I need you until I find a better cock-slut than you.”

Stephen stood frozen as the insult hit him. His mouth opened, then closed again, and finally, he lowered his gaze. He could feel heat in his cheeks—not from embarrassment, but from the burning humiliation. His fists trembled at his sides.

Anger twisted inside him. Sadness followed quickly behind, and the first tear slipped down his cheek.

Tony tilted his head, smirking as if the sight amused him.

“Do you really think this will change my mind?” he asked, chuckling darkly. “Tears?”

Stephen wiped his face with the back of his sleeve, blinking furiously. “No,” he whispered. Then louder, with a defiant tremor: “I know you’re a filthy monster who doesn’t care about anyone.”

Tony stared at him for a long moment, unmoving. Stephen braced himself—he was sure it would come now. A slap, a shove, a cruel word that would carve deeper than any bruise.

But it didn’t.

Instead, Stark leaned back with a sigh. “Fine. Take your one-week break,” he said, his tone dismissive. “But you won’t get paid for these days.”

Stephen’s breath caught in his throat. He had expected resistance, mockery, punishment—but not this.

“…Thanks,” he said quietly, his voice small and uncertain.

He turned and walked out, never once daring to look back.

Tony remained seated, his jaw tight, fingers tracing the rim of his whiskey glass. There was a dull throb in his chest—something unfamiliar. Not pain. Not longing. Just… noise. Static.

The door creaked open behind him, and Steve Rogers stepped in.

“Miss Potts is here to see you,” he announced.

Tony waved his hand. “Let her in.”

Pepper walked in moments later, elegant in a slate grey suit, tablet in hand. “Tony, we have to leave for Paris tomorrow for the business summit.”

“I know. I’m ready,” Tony replied.

Pepper paused, glancing toward the hallway Stephen had disappeared down. “Is Stephen coming with us?”

Tony’s jaw twitched. “No. He has exams.”

Pepper raised an eyebrow. “You gave him a break for his exams? Or are you just bored of him?”

Tony’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I… I’m not bored. But I think I’ll explore other omegas in Paris.”

There was a faint catch in his voice he didn’t like. He masked it with a sip of whiskey.

Pepper didn’t comment on it. “Umm, alright,” she said, before quietly exiting the room.

Once alone again, Tony leaned back in the chair, eyes unfocused. The silence sat heavy. A week without Stephen.

He’d had dozens of omegas. Some prettier, some more eager, some more experienced. But none of them had haunted him like this.

Stephen had a fire, even when he cried. That defiance. That softness. That contradiction.

Tony closed his eyes and scowled. It’ll pass, he told himself. It always does.

Stephen returned home long after the sun had dipped below the city skyline. He felt like a ghost drifting through the corridors. The quiet of his apartment was suffocating after the constant noise of the tower.

He dropped his bag to the floor and slumped onto the bed, staring at the blinking light on his phone. Twelve missed calls. All from Nic.

Guilt bloomed in his chest like a sickness. It felt like he was cheating. Like he’d betrayed the one person who truly loved him. And for what? Money? Grades? Safety?

He couldn’t bring himself to call Nic back. Not yet. Not when he still felt Stark’s hands all over his body.

But for now… for just one week, he wouldn’t have to see him. Wouldn’t have to endure that voice, those cruel eyes, that brutal touch. A week of silence. A breath of air above the water.

He tried to sleep.

But the moment he closed his eyes, the memories returned.

Rough hands. Harsh breath. The way Stark had forced him to his knees, the way he grinned while doing it. The way Stephen’s own body sometimes reacted in ways he didn’t understand—didn’t want to understand.

He turned on his side and curled inwards, as if he could fold away from himself.

Damn it, he thought bitterly, clenching the sheets. Why is my body doing this?

He hated Stark.

But Stark had broken something in him. Bent it until it didn’t remember how to stand. And now, even in the quiet, even in the dark, Stephen could still feel the man’s presence—under his skin, behind his eyes, in the hollow of his spine.

Stark had ruined him.

And the worst part was… Stephen wasn’t sure if he’d ever find his way back.

Chapter Text

“Mr. Stark, collaborating with us will only benefit your business,” Justin Hammer said, his grin more desperate than charming. “Hammer Industries is handling weapon distribution to several third-world countries. If we join forces, we could conquer the world.”

Tony Stark reclined in his seat, fingers drumming against the armrest. He didn’t want to be in this meeting. Every word from Hammer’s mouth grated against his patience.

“Hammer,” Tony said lazily, “if I wanted to conquer the world, I wouldn’t need you. I could buy your whole company, shut your doors in an hour, and still be home for lunch.”

“Mr. Stark, please,” Hammer leaned forward. “Hammer Industries is in debt. If you help me now, I’ll give you 50% of the profits. We can build something together.”

Tony scoffed. “I’ll give you a proposition. Stark Industries will absorb Hammer Industries. You get a generous salary. A nice corner office if I’m feeling kind.”

“But—” Hammer started, his face flushing with anger.

Tony stood, fixing his cuffs, his voice suddenly sharp. “If you refuse, I’ll shut you down, burn your brand, and make sure your name becomes a punchline in every trade magazine from here to Tokyo. Agree, and you’ll live like royalty. Disagree, and you’ll crawl.”

Hammer’s jaw clenched. He wanted to scream. But he also wanted to survive.

“…I accept,” he said, teeth grinding.

“Good. That’s sorted, then,” Tony said, already heading toward the exit. At the door, he turned and added with a smirk, “Oh, and Hammer—I’m throwing a fancy gala to celebrate your surrender. You should come. Dress well. Try not to look like defeat.”

Pepper followed him into the hallway.

“Tony, you’ve made one more enemy today,” she said, her tone calm but warning.

“Making enemies is fun, Pep,” Tony chuckled. “Keeps you on your toes. Gives life flavor.”

“But they’ll wait. Wait for the tiniest crack. And then they’ll strike,” she warned.

Tony paused. “That’s the fun part,” he said with a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Pepper exhaled, exasperated. She’d known Tony since childhood, back when he still laughed with innocence instead of irony. Back when he felt things instead of drinking them down. But that version of Tony had died with Howard and Maria. What remained was this man—ruthless, brilliant, and untouchable.

Still, she couldn’t stop hoping that somewhere, buried beneath the arrogance and armor, the real Tony still breathed.

The Night of the Gala

The gala was exactly what Tony liked: extravagant, excessive, and loud. Gold chandeliers, velvet walls, glasses brimming with champagne, and a room full of betas and omegas dressed to impress. They orbited him like moths, vying for his gaze, his favor, his touch.

Normally, he’d indulge in the game. Pick the most enticing omega in the room and claim them before the night was done.

Tonight felt… different.

“Mr. Stark, may I get you a drink?” a sultry voice asked.

He turned to find the most beautiful omega in the room, her lips painted like wine, her body draped in silk that clung in all the right places.

“Yes, you may,” Tony said, pulling her closer by the waist.

She handed him a glass, and he downed it without hesitation. They danced, they kissed, and eventually, she followed him upstairs. She was skilled, practiced, desperate to please. She whispered praises, begged prettily.

But Tony felt nothing.

His mind was miles away—back in a cramped bedroom with torn textbooks and trembling hands. He remembered the way Stephen looked at him with defiance and fear tangled in his eyes. The way he whispered please—not in pleasure, but pain. The sound haunted him.

And when he climaxed, the name slipped from his lips before he could stop it.

“Stephen.”

The omega froze. “Who’s Stephen?” she asked.

Tony opened his eyes, the illusion broken.

“It’s none of your business, slut. Get out. Pepper will give you your payment.”

She scoffed. “Of course. It’s always about money. But who would've thought—Stark has a special someone.” She left with a laugh, doors slamming behind her.

Tony sat up in bed, annoyed. Not with her. With himself.

Stephen wasn’t his special someone. He was just… another body. Another contract. Another week’s distraction.

So why couldn’t he stop thinking about him?

He threw on a jacket and went to find Rhodey.

“Rhodey, I want you to keep an eye on Stephen. I want updates—what he’s doing, where he’s going.”

Rhodey raised a brow. “Boss, speaking as your friend, not your bodyguard—why are you so obsessed with this boy?”

“I’m not obsessed,” Tony snapped.

Rhodey blinked in surprise.

Tony sighed and rubbed his eyes. “…Sorry. I didn’t mean to shout.”

Rhodey was stunned. Tony never apologized. Not anymore. It had been years since their friendship felt like anything more than routine. But now…

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Rhodey said.

“Thanks,” Tony muttered.

A Week Later

The air was lighter. Stephen felt it in his chest, in the way he smiled without forcing it. His exams had gone well—better than expected. He had managed to sleep, study, and most of all, avoid Stark.

For once, he felt like himself.

“How were the exams?” Nic asked as they walked together through the gardens near the Sanctum.

“They went well,” Stephen replied with a soft smile.

“I knew you’d do great.” Nic leaned in to kiss him.

Stephen didn’t move.

Nic paused, lips brushing against stillness. He leaned back, his expression faltering. “Steph… I don’t know what’s going on, but you’ve been different. Did I do something wrong?”

Stephen’s heart twisted. “No, you didn’t do anything wrong. I… I need to tell you something.”

Nic stepped closer. “What is it?”

“I’ve been—” Stephen began, voice tight with guilt.

“Stephen!” Christine’s voice rang out behind them. She rushed in and pulled him into a hug. “The exams went well, didn’t they?”

Stephen blinked, unsure how to respond to the sudden interruption. “Yeah… they did.”

“Nic, we need to celebrate! Let’s party!” Christine said, grinning.

Nic brightened. “Sure, I’ll call my friends. This needs to be big!”

As Nic walked away, pulling out his phone, Christine turned to Stephen.

“What were you going to say?” she asked, her voice low.

Stephen looked down, unsure. “I need to tell him. About Stark. About… everything.”

“Steph, no. Not yet. Just wait until this is over. Please,” Christine urged, grabbing his hand. “He’ll understand. But not now. Stark shouldn’t come between you two.”

“But what if he hates me?” Stephen whispered. “What if I lose him forever?”

“He won’t,” she said firmly. “He loves you. Just hold on a little longer. Act normal. Enjoy the party. Everything will be alright.”

Stephen nodded slowly, but his heart remained heavy. Because acting normal was becoming harder and harder.

And he knew that one day soon, the truth would break everything.

The pub pulsed with light and laughter, music throbbing through the floorboards like a second heartbeat. In a cozy corner booth beneath flickering fairy lights, Stephen and Christine sat close together, the clink of glasses and chatter around them barely cutting through their conversation.

Christine was laughing softly, her hand on Stephen’s arm as she whispered something that made him smile for the first time in days. There was a lightness to the moment, but only on the surface. The shadows under Stephen’s eyes told another story—one Christine knew too well.

Across the room, Nic watched them, nursing his drink.

“So,” one of his friends leaned over, slapping his back with a grin. “You two sealing the deal tonight?”

Nic chuckled nervously. “I’m planning to. I mean, we’ve been dating for three months now, but… I’m not sure if Stephen’s ready.”

“Of course he is,” another friend chimed in. “Three months, man. That’s boyfriend territory. Just go for it.”

Their encouragement filled Nic with cautious hope. He stood, smoothing down his shirt and walking toward Stephen.

“Hey, Stephen,” he said, smiling warmly.

Stephen turned, lips still slightly curled from whatever joke Christine had just made. “Yes, Nic?”

“Do you want to dance with me?”

Stephen hesitated. His heart fluttered—not with excitement, but with nerves. Still, he nodded.

Christine smirked knowingly. “Of course, he’ll dance with you. I’ll leave you two alone,” she said, squeezing Stephen’s arm before disappearing into the crowd.

Nic took Stephen’s hand and led him onto the dance floor. The pub lights had dimmed further, wrapping the room in golden warmth. Around them, couples swayed, lost in their own rhythm. Nic pulled Stephen close, his hand resting gently on the back of his neck. The other settled on his waist before slowly, almost absentmindedly, drifting downward.

Stephen froze for a moment. Nic’s hand was now cupping his backside. The motion wasn’t obscene, but it was loaded—with intention, desire, expectation.

Nic leaned in and kissed him.

Stephen tried to match the energy, tried to feel the sweetness he used to crave. But the alcohol on Nic’s tongue reminded him of the bitter sting of whiskey from Stark’s lips. The kiss turned sloppier, hungrier, and before Stephen knew it, Nic’s mouth was at his neck.

“Nic, please stop,” Stephen said, gently pushing him back.

Nic blinked. “Steph… I’ve been waiting for this for three months. I want you, baby.”

Stephen’s heart twisted. He wanted this—wanted to want this. He wanted to be loved without being bought. Touched without being bruised. Desired for who he was, not as payment for silence.

So he nodded. “Okay.”

Nic’s eyes lit up. “Thank you, baby. Let’s go to my place.”

Stephen nodded again, quieter this time. He let himself be led out of the pub.

Nic’s apartment was warm and familiar. The moment they stepped in, Nic turned, kissing him again—more eagerly now. His hands moved with more confidence, undressing Stephen piece by piece.

Stephen stood still, letting it happen.

You want this, he told himself.

But with every touch, every kiss, his mind betrayed him. He saw Stark instead—saw those cruel eyes, that mocking smirk, the possessiveness that made him feel like a thing instead of a person.

Why can’t I stop thinking about him?

Stephen wanted to scream, but instead he laid down, silent.

When it was over, Nic rolled beside him, breathless and smiling.

“How was it, baby?”

Stephen stared at the ceiling, his body still, his throat tight. His eyes burned before he could stop them.

“Hey… are you okay?” Nic asked, sitting up.

Stephen turned into him suddenly, hugging him tightly, his fingers clutching Nic’s shirt like a lifeline.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Nic blinked, confused. “Why are you apologizing?”

But Stephen didn’t answer. He just pressed his face into Nic’s shoulder and cried—quietly, brokenly, like someone trying not to be heard. Nic held him, confused but comforting, brushing his fingers through Stephen’s hair.

The sobs eventually softened. Exhaustion settled in Stephen’s bones like sand, and without meaning to, he drifted into sleep.

Nic lay awake, still holding him, wondering what storm Stephen was hiding—and whether he’d ever be allowed to see the wreckage left behind

Chapter Text

Tony’s private jet had barely touched down when he strode through the hangar, anticipation crackling through his veins. A week away had felt like an eternity, every mile flown underscoring how desperately he’d missed Stephen. The thought of wrapping his arms around him, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath his lips, pressed on Tony’s mind with frantic urgency.

“Rhodey,” he barked the moment he reached the hangar doors. “What has Stephen been up to these past few days?”

War Machine—ever the reliable confidant—looked up from his tablet, brow furrowing. “He’s been buried in exam prep at Columbia, sir,” he replied. “But last night, he was spotted at O’Malley’s Pub with a guy his age. Left together early—word is, he’s the new boyfriend.”

Tony’s chest tightened. Jealousy flared, red-hot. “And who is this boy?” he demanded, voice low and dangerous.

“Nicodemus West,” Rhodey answered evenly. “Senior at Columbia. Good background, by the looks of it.”

A snarl twisted Tony’s lips. “Bring Stephen to me. Now.” He turned on his heel, heart hammering. He knew he had to hear it from Stephen’s own lips before his rage completely overtook him.

Morning light filtered through gauzy curtains, dancing across the silken sheets where Stephen lay sleeping. A warm arm curled around him, the gentle weight a lingering comfort after the vulnerability of the night before. He stirred, heart fluttering with a strange mix of affection and fear. Last night had been soft, intimate—so soft he almost forgot Stark, the filthy duties waiting for him. But today, reality tugged him awake.

Stephen slipped from beneath Nicodemus’s embrace, careful not to wake him. The rich scent of cologne mingled with the faint trace of Nic’s shampoo as Stephen tiptoed across the plush carpet, codpiece of anxiety tight in his gut. He dressed quickly, the clink of metal on metal as he secured his watch startlingly loud in the hushed room.

Outside, the spring breeze was cool against his skin. He walked with quick, uneven steps, each one echoing the dread he felt. What if his father had seen them last night? Stark’s eyes were unforgiving where Stephen’s happiness was concerned.

Suddenly, a black SUV glided alongside him, its engine a silent predator. The tinted windows slid open and Rhodey’s voice rumbled through the speaker.

“Come with us. The boss wants to see you now.”

Stephen’s heart lurched. He climbed in without a word, the interior’s leather seats cold beneath him. Every tree, every lamppost flashing by seemed to whisper, Beware. He stared out the window, mind racing—not just for his own safety, but for Nicodemus’s. Had Stark’s watchful agents been tailing his boyfriend, too?

The bodyguards escorted him to Stark’s room and closed the door behind him. Tony stood there, his back to Stephen.
Slowly, he turned to face him, his eyes boring into Stephen’s.
He motioned for him to come closer.Stephen hesitantly walked over.
"On your knees," Tony commanded in a dark voice.
Startled, Stephen dropped to his knees and crawled toward him. Tony grabbed his hair a little too harshly, forcing Stephen to look up at him.

"You were just waiting for me to leave so you could whore yourself out, weren’t you?" Stark sneered.
"I... wasn’t," Stephen whimpered in pain.
"Then what were you doing last night, sleeping with some random boy?"
"He’s not random. He’s my boyfriend."
"Oh? A slut like you has a boyfriend? And you slept with him, didn’t you?" Tony pulled him roughly onto his lap.
"Let’s see who can make you cum harder—me or your little boyfriend," Tony said, unzipping his pants and thrusting into Stephen.
"Tell me, who’s better? Me or him?" Tony demanded viciously.
Stephen was torn between pain and pleasure.
"Tell me, Stephen," Tony insisted.
"He’s better... because I love him. You... You’ll never please me because I hate you," Stephen gasped, writhing in pain.
Tony stopped and stared at Stephen. Fear gripped Stephen—he shouldn't have said that. Tony might punish him or worse—hurt Nic.
"I... I’m sorry. Please don’t hurt Nic. He doesn’t know anything," Stephen pleaded, panicking.
"Get off," Tony said in a low, dangerous voice.
Stephen, still sitting on his lap, looked confused. Was that hurt in Tony’s eyes?
"I said, get off and leave!" Stark snapped.
Startled, Stephen quickly stood, dressed, and left the room.

The city was quiet as dusk began to settle, casting long shadows across the sidewalk. Stephen stood outside Tony’s mansion, the conversation from earlier echoing like static in his mind. The door closed behind him with a heavy thud, and he found Rhodes already waiting near the driveway, leaning against a sleek black car.

“Come with me. The boss wants me to drop you home,” Rhodes said, his voice clipped but not unkind.

Stephen hesitated, eyes flicking toward the street. “It’s fine. I’ll walk.”

Rhodes raised a brow. “It’s an order.”

Those words fell with finality. Stephen sighed, gave a small nod, and slid into the passenger seat. The car hummed softly as Rhodes started the engine, the silence between them filled with unspoken tension. Stephen watched the world blur past the windows—neon lights, pedestrians laughing on the sidewalks, lives that felt so distant from his own. Lives untouched by the weight he carried.

When they pulled up outside his apartment, Stephen was surprised to see Nicodemus standing at the entrance, arms crossed, jaw tight. His heart stuttered.

“Nic?” he called out as he stepped out of the car.

Nic’s eyes were wild, confused and hurt all at once. “Stephen, where were you? Why were you with Stark’s men?”

Stephen opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came. Before he could gather his words, Nic’s eyes dropped to his wrist—exposed under the sleeve of his hoodie, a fresh bruise dark and unmistakable.

“What’s this?” Nic stepped closer, anger bleeding into his voice. “This wasn’t there yesterday. And it’s fresh.”

Stephen instinctively pulled his sleeve down, but it was too late.

“It’s... nothing,” he muttered.

“Tell me you’re not prostituting yourself to Stark for money,” Nic said, cold and sharp like a blade.

Stephen’s breath hitched. “I... I am. But it’s not like you think—”

“Enough.” Nic’s voice was cutting now, sharp with betrayal. “My friends warned me. They told me you were a slut, that you’d do anything for money. I didn’t believe them. But now? You’ve been using me too.”

“No! Nic, I love you! I just didn’t want you to get hurt. I was protecting you,” Stephen pleaded, tears forming in his eyes.

“Enough with the act.” Nic stepped back, voice brittle. “I’m done with you. Don’t ever come near me again.”

And just like that, he turned and walked away, leaving Stephen rooted to the pavement, his world shattering around him.

Stephen stood in silence for a long moment before he stumbled into the building, into his apartment, and collapsed against the door. The silence inside was louder than any scream.

Meanwhile, Tony was locked away in the darkest corner of his mansion, a drink in hand, untouched. He sat in the shadows of his study, eyes fixed on nothing. The events of the day played on repeat in his head—Stephen’s rejection, the bruise on his wrist, the hatred in his eyes.

I hate you. That was what Stephen had said. It rang louder than the gunshots he’d heard in warzones. Louder than the rockets he’d built.

A knock interrupted the silence.

“Tony, you’ve been locked in this room all day. What’s going on?” Pepper’s voice drifted in, soft but worried.

Tony didn’t look at her. “Pep... do you think anyone in this world could ever love me?”

She moved closer, stepping into the light. “I used to love you, Tony. But... it’s hard to love the man you’ve become.”

Tony gave a dry, bitter laugh. “A monster, right?”

“You weren’t always like this,” she said gently. “You used to care. About the world, about your friends.”

Tony stood, walking toward the window. “And what did the world ever give me in return? A father who beat me down for being too weak. A mother who was murdered while I slept in the next room. A godfather who put a knife to my throat. And then the cave... I survived hell. I had to become something else to keep surviving.”

He turned to face her, eyes burning with frustration and something deeper. “So yes, I like power. I like being feared. It means I’m not the one being hurt anymore.”

Pepper’s expression softened, but it was still tinged with sorrow. “Tony, I know you’ve been through hell. But that doesn’t give you the right to hurt others. Stephen is one of them. And he hates you because of it.”

Tony looked away, jaw clenched.

“You can still change,” she said. “Don’t let your past be your prison.”

“Leave,” he said coldly.

Pepper didn’t argue. She lingered a moment longer, eyes filled with an ache she didn’t speak, then quietly left the room.

Stephen sat on his bed in the dark, phone pressed to his ear. Ring after ring. No answer. He tried again.

Still nothing.

Tears slipped down his cheeks silently. He’d lost Nic. The only person who had made him feel like more than a possession. Like he was worth something beyond the bloodline he carried or the money he didn’t have.

But he couldn’t afford to fall apart.

Stephen wiped his tears and stood. He still had his dream—medicine. Healing. Something good in a life full of pain. He couldn’t rely on Stark, not anymore. So he walked across the city, a cold breeze tugging at his coat, to the only place that had ever felt like home—the Sanctum.

Wong answered the door, surprised.

“Stephen? It’s been a while. How have you been?”

“I’m... okay,” he lied. “Wong, I need your help. Can I have my old job back? I really need the money.”

Wong’s smile faltered. “Stephen... it’s not that simple.”

“What do you mean?”

“The others,” Wong said quietly, “they’re afraid. Of Stark. They think if you come back, he might come here again. Hurt one of us. They asked me to say no.”

Stephen looked away. His throat tightened, but he nodded. “I understand. I’m the problem.”

“Stephen, I wish I could help—”

“It’s okay,” Stephen interrupted with a sad smile. “I don’t want anyone else to get hurt because of me.”

And with that, he turned and walked out.

Wong watched him leave, heart heavy, but helpless.

Stephen walked until his legs gave out. He sat down on a curb as the sky deepened into night, the glow of the city swallowing him whole. A streetlamp buzzed softly above him. He hugged his knees to his chest, shivering—not from the cold, but from the weight of everything pressing down on him.

Alone. Cast out by love. Rejected by safety. Haunted by a man who wouldn’t let him breathe.

He didn’t fight the tears this time. He let them fall freely, silently, under the indifferent glow of the city.

Because for the first time, he realized—he truly had no one left.

Chapter Text

The night was cruel.

Rain pelted the streets like needles, each drop sharp, cold, relentless. The city had long since gone quiet, save for the distant sound of honking cars, the occasional wail of a siren, and the hum of streetlamps trying to fight through the downpour.

Stephen sat curled on the footpath, soaked to the bone, his knees drawn to his chest, his arms wrapped around them like a lifeline that had long slipped through his fingers. His eyes stared blankly ahead, but he saw nothing—not the cars, not the people who occasionally passed with umbrellas and indifferent glances.

He had nowhere to go.

Christine would take him in—he knew that—but he also knew what Tony was capable of. Stark had eyes everywhere, influence in every shadow. If Stephen went to Christine, she would be dragged into the storm he’d brought on himself. He couldn’t risk it.

And then came the whisper he’d fought so long to silence.

There’s only one way out.

Maybe he wasn’t brave enough to live through the shame, the pain, the constant fear. Maybe this was the only choice left for someone like him—bruised, abandoned, unloved. A life that never truly felt like his.

So, without pausing to think, without even a moment of hesitation, Stephen stood and stepped into the road. A pair of headlights came rushing toward him.

At least it’ll be quick.

And then—nothing. Just the roar of impact, the screech of tires, a scream that might’ve been his, and the comforting, terrifying blanket of black.

Back at Stark Tower, the lab was alive with the faint hum of machinery. Screens flickered, robotic arms moved with precise rhythm, and Tony Stark stood bent over a holographic prototype. His fingers moved rapidly as he adjusted the interface, trying to lose himself in work, in anything that wasn’t the aching silence left behind by Stephen’s absence.

He didn’t even look up when Rhodes entered.

“What is it, Rhodes?” he asked, voice tight.

Rhodey hesitated. “It’s about Stephen.”

Tony scoffed, eyes fixed on the blueprint before him. “You can stop spying on him. I’m not interested anymore.”

“Tony,” Rhodey said, voice softer this time. “Stephen’s in the hospital. He was hit by a car... Looks like a suicide attempt.”

Everything stopped. The screen, the machines, his breathing.

Tony’s head jerked up. “What? Is he okay?”

“I don’t know. I can send men to—”

“No,” Tony said immediately, already throwing off his jacket. “I’m going. Let’s go.”

Rhodey didn’t say a word. He simply followed.

The hospital was a blur of white lights and sterile silence. The rain still fell outside, dripping from the brim of Tony’s coat as he stormed in, eyes wild with panic. He went straight to the front desk.

“Where is Stephen? An accident case. He was brought in tonight,” Tony demanded, voice hard and urgent.

The receptionist looked up, startled. “Uh... Mr. Stark... Just a moment, let me—”

“Do it fast,” Tony snapped.

Her hands trembled slightly as she typed. “A patient was admitted an hour ago. Car accident. He's in the ICU.”

“Take me there,” Tony said immediately.

“I’m sorry, sir, we can’t allow anyone into the—”

“You think your rules can stop me from seeing him?” Tony growled, stepping forward, his aura a storm of grief and fury.

The woman flinched. “I-I’ll take you.”

Tony followed her down a white corridor that felt far too long. The click of his shoes echoed in sync with the pounding of his heart.

When the doors to the ICU opened, the air turned heavy. Machines beeped in a steady rhythm, and the lights inside were dim, softened to make the patients’ rest easier. Tony’s eyes found Stephen instantly.

He was lying on a hospital bed, motionless.

His leg was elevated and wrapped in thick bandages, one arm encased in a brace. His face was swollen and battered—his beautiful eyes blackened with bruising, his lower lip split and raw, a cut just under his brow stitched up hastily. A faint tube delivered oxygen into his nose, and the slow rise and fall of his chest was the only sign of life.

Tony froze. His breath caught painfully in his throat.

He stepped forward, like his feet were moving through water, every part of him shaking.

He sank into the chair beside the bed and reached out with trembling fingers. Gently, he brushed a lock of damp hair from Stephen’s forehead. His hand lingered there, and then slowly, he ran his fingers through the soft strands, as though trying to soothe a pain he couldn’t reach.

Was he crying?

Tony blinked rapidly, but the tears came anyway, hot and unexpected.

The last time he cried, he had been a boy, clutching his mother’s blood-soaked scarf to his chest. He’d sworn that night he would never feel again. Never let himself be this raw, this weak.

But now, seeing Stephen lying broken and still, he couldn’t stop the storm from breaking loose inside him.

“I did this,” he whispered, voice cracking. “You asked me to stop... You begged me. And I just kept pushing. You wanted love, and I gave you chains.”

He leaned forward, his forehead gently resting against Stephen’s bandaged hand.

He stayed like that for a long time, silent tears slipping down his cheeks, the only sound in the room the quiet beep of a machine counting Stephen’s heartbeats—each one a quiet promise that hope wasn’t fully gone.

Not yet.

The rain had slowed to a gentle drizzle by the time the doctor stepped into the ICU room. Her shoes squeaked softly on the linoleum as she spotted the lone figure beside the patient’s bed—so out of place amidst the sterile machines and the soft beeping of heart monitors.

“Visitors aren’t allowed in here,” she said, voice calm but firm.

Tony didn’t look up at first. His hand still rested gently on Stephen’s bandaged head, as though the contact alone could keep him tethered to this world. Then he blinked, snapping back into the moment, his voice hoarse.

“What’s his condition, doctor?”

The woman took a step closer, her expression softening with recognition. “Mr. Stark?”

“How is he?” Tony repeated, urgency sharpening the edges of his voice.

She adjusted the chart in her hands and responded professionally. “He lost a lot of blood. His right arm and leg are fractured, and he has a concussion. But we’ve taken care of the bleeding, and the fractures have been stabilized. He’s stable now. He should regain consciousness in about six hours.”

Tony let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Oh, great. Thanks.”

The doctor hesitated, then asked, “Mr. Stark, do you know him? We’ve been trying to contact his family.”

Tony nodded, fingers finally pulling away from Stephen’s hair. “He’s Stephen Strange. First-year med student at Columbia. Works part-time at the Sanctum Café.”

“That’s helpful,” she said, making a note. “We’ll reach out to his emergency contacts or college. But... the ICU is high-risk for infection. I’m sorry, Mr. Stark. We can’t allow visitors in here.”

Tony stood slowly, eyes lingering on Stephen’s battered face. “Okay... but let me know the moment he wakes up. I’ll be outside.”

“Of course,” the doctor said gently.

Tony walked out of the ICU like a man carrying stones in his chest. He collapsed onto a bench just outside the door, hands clasped tightly together, as if holding himself from breaking.

Rhodey stood near him, his brows knit with concern. “Boss... let’s go back. I’ll stay here and call you when he wakes.”

Tony didn’t even look at him. “No, I’m not leaving. I should be here.”

Rhodey nodded quietly, sitting down beside him. He’d seen Tony wear a thousand faces over the years—cocky genius, arrogant playboy, ruthless businessman—but never this. Never quiet, never fragile.

Moments later, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed down the corridor. Christine and Wong burst into view, rainwater still clinging to their clothes. They stopped abruptly when they spotted Tony on the bench.

Christine’s eyes narrowed with instant hatred. Wong’s shoulders tensed. They said nothing to him as they passed and made their way to the nurse’s station.

“Doctor, we’re Stephen’s friends. How is he?” Christine asked, her voice trembling with emotion.

The same doctor from earlier, Dr. Tao, stepped forward. “Hi. He’s stable. He’ll be moved to a private room tomorrow. We’re monitoring him closely.”

Christine let out a breath of relief. “Thank God.”

They turned and took a seat on the bench across from Tony. The silence between them was thick with blame.

“Christine,” Wong began quietly, guilt clouding his face. “I’m partly to blame for this. He came to me asking for his job back... I said no. I thought I was protecting the Sanctum, but—”

“No, Wong,” Christine cut in gently but firmly. “It’s not your fault. We both know who’s really responsible for what happened to Stephen.”

She looked at Stark, her eyes like fire. Tony didn’t meet her gaze. He couldn’t. He had seen lives end before—at his orders, by his hand—but never had one unravel so slowly, so intimately in front of him.

“Boss, please,” Rhodey said again, softly. “Let’s go.”

Tony shook his head. “I told you. I’m not leaving.”

Christine stood suddenly. “Why are you still here, huh? To make sure he’s actually dead? You ruined his life. You caged him like a pet, and when he tried to escape, you broke him!”

“Shut up,” Rhodey growled, rising to his feet.

“Or what?” Christine stepped forward without flinching. “You’ll kill me too? Go ahead. I’m not afraid of your boss.”

Rhodey clenched his fists.

“Rhodey, stop,” Tony said softly.

He looked at Stephen’s door once more, his chest aching, then finally turned away.

“Let’s go.”

He walked down the corridor without looking back.

Stephen’s world came back to him in fragments—pain, a blinding light, and the distinct, sterile scent of antiseptic. He blinked slowly, each flutter of his lashes an effort. His whole body ached, and even breathing felt like a burden.

Beside him, Christine gasped. “Steph? You’re awake?”

Stephen’s lips cracked as he tried to speak. “Christine?” His voice was barely a whisper.

She smiled through tears. “I’m here.”

“I’m... not dead?”

“No, thank God,” she said, clutching his hand gently.

He stared at the ceiling. “Why did I do that...?”

“Steph,” her voice broke. “Why would you think you had nobody?”

Stephen sobbed weakly. “I didn’t want to put you in danger. He watches everything. I didn’t want you to get hurt... like Nic.”

“Don’t say that. You have me. And Wong. You’re not alone,” Christine whispered.

Stephen’s voice cracked again. “Did... Nic call?”

She paused. “No.”

Stephen turned away, a sad, resigned smile curling on his bruised lips. “He doesn’t want me anymore.”

Christine gently brushed the hair from his forehead. “If he can’t understand your pain, Steph... then maybe he was never meant to stay.”

“What am I going to do now, Christy?” he whispered, tears streaking down his cheeks.

“We’ll find a way. I promise,” she said, voice filled with quiet strength.

Just then, the door creaked open, and Pepper Potts stepped into the room.

“Stephen,” she said warmly. “How are you feeling?”

“Miss Potts?” Stephen blinked, confused. “Why are you here? Your boss will be angry if he finds out.”

Pepper chuckled softly. “Actually, Tony sent me. With these.” She handed Christine a bouquet of pale blue lilies and soft white roses.

“Flowers?” Stephen asked in disbelief.

“He wanted to come in person,” Pepper said gently. “But he didn’t want to upset you.”

Stephen stared at her, baffled. “Why would Stark care?”

Pepper smiled kindly. “I think he’s starting to realize just how much he hurt you.”

She glanced at Christine. “Please take care of him.” Then she turned and walked out quietly.

“Steph,” Christine said, gently unwrapping the bouquet. “There’s a note.”

Stephen looked at her. “What?”

She unfolded the tiny card. “‘Sorry for everything,’” she read.

Stephen scoffed softly. “Yeah, right. That’s definitely not in Tony Stark’s vocabulary.”

Christine’s expression turned serious. “He was here, Steph. Yesterday. Sitting outside your room. He didn’t argue when I lashed out at him... he just left.”

Stephen turned his face to the wall. “Why would he do that?”

“I think... maybe he’s finally feeling guilty.”

Stephen was silent for a while, the words sinking deep into the ache in his chest.

Christine leaned forward and softly stroked his hair. “Let’s not think about him right now. You need to rest. I’m here. Wong will come soon too.”

Stephen’s eyes fluttered shut again. “Thanks, Christy... for everything.”

“You don’t have to thank me, dummy. Now sleep.”

And with Christine’s hand gently combing through his hair, Stephen drifted into sleep—safer, softer, and just a little more hopeful than before.

Chapter Text

The rain had passed. A golden sun filtered through the tall hospital windows, painting Stephen's pale face with light. A week had gone by since the accident—since the moment he had given up on everything—and though his body was healing, his spirit still felt fragile, like porcelain mended with trembling hands.

Christine had been his constant through it all. She came by every free moment she had, filling his quiet room with warmth and conversation. Pepper Potts visited too, always bearing fresh flowers from Stark. Stephen had stopped asking why. There was no point in trying to understand Stark’s motives anymore—he’d only end up tangled in more questions he didn’t want answers to.

Dr. Tao, with her soft tone and steady presence, had become a source of comfort as well. She didn’t pry. She never looked at him with pity. Instead, she treated him like a human being—someone worth caring for without condition.

That morning, she stepped in with a soft smile, clipboard in hand. “Stephen, you’ll be discharged tomorrow. You can go home. But be careful—your arm and leg still need time to heal.”

Stephen gave a nod. “Thanks, Doc. But... to get discharged, we need to pay the bill, right? I don’t have the money.”

Dr. Tao hesitated only for a second before answering. “All your bills have been paid. Don’t worry.”

Stephen blinked. “Who paid them? Christine can’t afford something like this.”

“Mr. Stark left a blank check for you,” the doctor said gently.

Stephen's heart twisted. Of course. Stark.

What was he doing now? Trying to buy his guilt away? Trying to lure him back into that glittering, golden cage? Stephen’s thoughts spun into dark corners he didn’t want to revisit.

Before he could fall deeper into that spiral, the door opened and Christine walked in.

“Hey, Steph! How are you feeling now?” she asked, smiling as she dropped her bag by the chair.

“I’m okay, Christy. I’ll be discharged tomorrow,” he replied quietly.

“Oh!” she perked up. “I was planning to go home this evening since we’re on our year break. But I can stay with you if you need me.”

Stephen shook his head gently. “You haven’t seen your family in a long time. You should go.”

“But how will you manage?” she asked, concern creasing her brow.

Stephen turned to Dr. Tao. “Doc, can I stay here until I’m fully recovered?”

The doctor gave a small, apologetic smile. “Stephen, I’m afraid not. We only keep patients who need intensive care. You’ll need rest, but not constant medical supervision anymore.”

“Oh,” Stephen muttered, disappointment evident in his voice.

Christine turned back to him, her expression firm. “Then I’m staying.”

“No, you’ve done so much for me already. You should be with your family. I’ll manage.”

She hesitated. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” he said with a soft smile. “I’ll be fine.”

“Alright. I’ll go pack, then. Take care of yourself, okay?” she said, reaching over to squeeze his shoulder gently before leaving.

As the door closed, Stephen felt the weight of solitude return. Dr. Tao lingered by his side.

“Stephen, what are you going to do? You can’t walk on your own yet,” she said with concern.

“I’ll manage,” he replied.

“Why don’t you go to your family?”

His eyes darkened. “I can’t. I’m not welcome there.”

Dr. Tao nodded slowly. “I understand. I’ll take care of the discharge paperwork.”

And with that, she left him alone once again.

Stephen leaned back against the pillows and stared at the ceiling. Maybe it would’ve been better if he hadn’t survived. Maybe that car should’ve taken him completely. Now he was back in a world where he didn’t belong, with nowhere to go.

Tears welled up quietly. He let them fall.

The next morning was crisp and clear. Wong arrived with a small overnight bag, helping Stephen pack.

“Stephen, where will you go?” he asked gently.

Stephen gave a faint shrug. “Back to my apartment. I’ll manage.”

“I wish I could take you to my place, but... you know how my girlfriend feels about bringing other omegas into our home,” Wong said, clearly pained.

Stephen smiled faintly. “It’s okay, Wong. I understand. Could you get me a cab?”

“Of course.”

As they were finishing up, the door opened. In walked Pepper, followed closely by Rhodey and Steve Rogers. The contrast between Stephen’s worn expression and their crisp suits was almost laughable.

“Steve, Rhodey, take his bags to the car,” Pepper said briskly.

Stephen blinked. “Miss Potts? What are you doing?”

“Dr. Tao called me. You don’t have to be alone while you recover. You’ll be staying at Stark Tower,” she said matter-of-factly.

Stephen tensed. “I don’t want to. I don’t want to work for Mr. Stark anymore.”

“You don’t have to,” she reassured him. “He’s not asking anything from you. He just... wants to apologize. And you need care. You’ll be safe with us, I promise.”

Stephen hesitated, eyes clouded with confusion. “I don’t know...”

Dr. Tao stepped in. “Stephen, you can’t be alone right now. Please go with them.”

Pepper added gently, “No one will judge you. Just think of it as hanging out at my place for a while. That’s all.”

Wong, who had been quiet, finally spoke up. “Stephen, she’s right. It’s better than struggling alone. And you’ll be back on your feet soon.”

Stephen looked at each of them, feeling the pressure of their care, their concern. He didn’t have many choices. And even if Stark had broken him, the man wasn’t here now. This wasn’t a gilded cage—it was a lifeline.

“Okay,” he said softly.

Pepper smiled. “Good. Let’s go.”

Wong helped wheel him to the car. Rhodey and Steve gently assisted him into the backseat.

The drive to Stark Tower was quiet. Stephen stared out of the window, unsure of what to feel. When they arrived, Pepper guided him inside.

The tower was as sleek and modern as he remembered—sterile but beautiful. They rode the private elevator in silence. Pepper led him down a wide hallway to a spacious guest room.

“This is your room, Stephen,” she said gently. “You’ll have maids to help you, and if you need anything, just call me.”

Stephen glanced around. The room was elegant and warm, with large windows overlooking the skyline. A soft, plush bed stood at its center. There were shelves of books, a couch, even a small TV.

He looked at her. “Thanks, Miss Potts.”

She smiled kindly. “Call me Pepper.”

She left the room, the door clicking softly shut behind her.

Stephen sat on the edge of the bed, running his hand across the smooth blanket. The room was nicer than anywhere he had ever stayed. Still, his heart beat with unease.

What was Stark playing at?

He didn’t know. But for now, he had a roof over his head, people who at least pretended to care, and a moment to breathe.

And for someone who had stood at the edge of death not long ago, that was enough.

The amber liquid in Tony’s glass glowed under the soft lighting of the bar in Stark Tower. He sipped slowly, the warmth doing nothing to ease the tight knot in his chest. The quiet clink of ice was the only sound—until a pair of familiar heels clicked softly behind him.

“Tony,” Pepper’s voice was gentle but firm. “Stephen is here.”

He didn’t turn around, just stared into the swirling drink like it held answers he hadn’t found in years.

“Mmh… How is he?” he asked, his voice hoarse, more from the weight of guilt than the alcohol.

“Better,” she replied. “Do you want to see him?”

He finally looked up, eyes shadowed and tired. “No. It’ll just freak him out. He hates me.”

Pepper folded her arms. “Yes, he does. And no one can blame him for that.”

Tony’s gaze dropped again. He didn’t argue—what was there to say?

“I came to remind you about your meeting tomorrow,” she said after a pause, switching to business to ease the tension.

“Mmh... I remember,” Tony muttered, tapping the rim of his glass.

Pepper was about to leave when his voice stopped her.

“Pep.”

She turned. “Yes?”

Tony didn’t meet her eyes. “Make sure he’s comfortable. Only you can do it.”

Her expression softened slightly. “Yeah. I’ll take care of it,” she said, before quietly walking out.

Tony finished his drink in one long swallow. The burn of the alcohol faded quickly, unlike the ache in his chest. He had done many terrible things in his life. Hurt people. Killed, even. But this—what he’d done to Stephen—this was something else. It clawed at him when he was alone. He had never cared about anyone deeply, never allowed himself to feel too much.

Until Stephen.

And now, Tony couldn’t even look at him without flinching.

The next day dawned cold and clear. Tony, dressed sharply in a charcoal suit, sat through the long boardroom meeting at Stark Industries with practiced ease. His mind, however, kept wandering.

Across from him stood a tall, broad-shouldered man with striking features and an easy confidence.

“Mr. Stark,” the man said, offering his hand, “my father couldn’t attend today’s meeting. I’m Thor Odinson, his eldest son. I’ll be representing Asgard Industries.”

Tony shook the hand with a businesslike nod. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Odinson. I’m aligned with your proposal.”

“Excellent! Then let’s sign the deal and make history,” Thor said, his grin infectious.

They signed the partnership documents, ink drying as glasses of champagne were served around.

“To celebrate,” Thor announced cheerfully, “I’m throwing a gala tonight. Stark Industries is the guest of honor. I’ve arranged... entertainment. I know you’re into omegas and betas. You can choose anyone who catches your eye.”

Tony gave a noncommittal smile. “Looking forward to it.”

The gala was lavish, glittering with gold accents and the hum of live jazz. Omegas and betas in shimmering attire floated between tables, laughter echoing under the chandeliers. Champagne flowed like water, and flirtation hung in the air.

Tony stood near the edge of the crowd, a glass in hand, barely sipping. People came and went, smiled and lingered, but nothing moved him. He was tired. Tired of hollow compliments and meaningless nights. Tired of pretending he still enjoyed it.

“Mr. Stark!” Thor boomed, striding over with a wide grin. “Are you enjoying the night?”

“Yes,” Tony lied easily, lifting his glass.

“I know what would make it better,” Thor said, dragging a woman toward him—a beautiful beta with striking features. “She’ll show you heaven and beyond,” he winked.

The woman smiled and pressed into Tony, her fingers grazing his jacket, her voice low and inviting.

But Tony flinched, stepping away like her touch had burned him. “Excuse me,” he muttered, turning on his heel.

He found Pepper near the drink station, calmly handling a group of overzealous investors.

“Pep,” he said.

She turned. “What is it? Something wrong?”

“I’m leaving. Handle things here,” Tony said, already moving toward the exit.

The ride back to the tower was silent. No music, no city lights could drown out the noise in his head.

Stephen.

That name haunted every quiet moment now.

He entered the penthouse quietly and walked down the familiar hallway. He passed his own room, ignoring it, until he reached another door—Stephen’s. It was slightly ajar.

He stood there for a moment, hand on the frame, peeking in.

Stephen lay asleep in the soft glow of the bedside lamp, tucked under warm covers. His dark lashes cast shadows on his bruised cheeks. His arm and leg were still wrapped in bandages, resting gently on pillows. His breathing was slow and even, his expression peaceful for the first time in weeks.

Tony’s throat tightened. He wanted to walk in, sit by him, just... be there. But he didn’t want to risk waking him. Didn’t want to see fear in those eyes again.

So he stepped back and returned to his own room.

He poured himself another drink but didn’t take a sip. Instead, he stared out the window, city lights flickering below like stars fallen to earth.

What was happening to him?

He had always known how to get what he wanted—power, control, desire. But Stephen had never been about desire. Not really. He was something else. Something that made Tony feel alive and ashamed all at once.

And now, every gentle breath from the next room echoed in his ears, louder than any party, sharper than any deal.

For the first time in a long time, Tony didn’t want to be the man he had become.

He wanted to change.

And this time, not for the world.

But for Stephen.

Chapter Text

The late afternoon sun spilled warm light across the polished floors of Stark Tower, gilding everything in a soft glow. Stephen sat on the plush couch in his room, his leg propped up on a cushioned stool. His casts had been bothering him less and less with each passing day, though his movements were still slow, careful. The days had begun to feel quieter now—routine, even—especially with Wanda and Natasha around.

They weren’t just his caretakers anymore. They had become his friends.

Wanda entered first, balancing a tray of fruit and tea with practiced grace. Natasha followed behind, folding freshly laundered towels.

“Stephen,” Wanda said as she set the tray down, “so you’ll be leaving soon, right?” Her tone was soft, but the sadness in it was unmistakable.

Stephen raised an eyebrow with a teasing smile. “You sound like you’re sad that I’m better now.”

Wanda huffed, crossing her arms. “Of course not. But… I am sad you’ll be leaving when you’re fully better.”

“We could meet outside, Wanda. We could hang out,” Stephen offered, still smiling.

But Wanda’s expression darkened slightly. “Outside? We’re not allowed to leave the tower.”

Stephen frowned. “Why not?”

Natasha, who had remained quiet, looked up. “Mr. Stark bought us when we were kids. Personal omegas, meant to take care of the Stark family. We’re not allowed outside without permission.”

Stephen stared, stunned. “Tony Stark did that?”

“No,” Wanda answered softly. “It was his father, Howard Stark. We were taken in from the streets. We’re like… slaves, I guess.”

Stephen’s expression turned from disbelief to anger. “That’s not right. No one should be forced to work as a slave.”

Natasha shook her head. “It’s the reality, Stephen. Omegas don’t get many choices. We’re actually lucky. If Stark Senior hadn’t taken us in, we’d probably have ended up in a brothel or dead.”

A quiet pause settled between them. Then Wanda smiled gently. “I’m proud of you, Stephen. Becoming a doctor, especially as an omega? That’s amazing.”

Stephen looked away, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. “I’ve paid a big price for it.”

Before they could reply, the door opened. Pepper Potts stepped inside, graceful and professional as always, followed by Steve Rogers.

“Stephen,” Pepper said, “we need to head to the hospital today, right?”

“Yeah. Hopefully, I’ll get rid of this cast,” Stephen replied, motioning to his bandaged leg with mock dramatics.

“Steve will go with you,” Pepper added.

Stephen nodded, but tensed as Steve approached and gently placed a hand at his waist to help him stand. The closeness of an alpha made Stephen’s skin prickle with unease.

“Hey,” Steve said, his voice gentle, “I won’t hurt you.”

Stephen hesitated, then gave a short nod. He let Steve help him into the car.

The drive began in silence until Steve, somewhat awkwardly, asked, “So… how did you decide to become a doctor?”

Stephen blinked. Steve had barely spoken to him before. “I’m not a doctor yet.”

“But you will be,” Steve said with a smile. “I can tell.”

Stephen gave a small smile back.

“You didn’t answer my question though,” Steve pressed, his tone casual but genuinely curious.

Stephen shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve always wanted to help people… to care for them.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “Not for the money?”

Stephen looked out the window. “It’s not always about money.”

Steve nodded thoughtfully. “I admire that. I really do. You’ve done a lot in your life.”

Stephen gave a humorless laugh. “What, like becoming Stark’s whore?”

Steve glanced at him sharply. “No. I’m sorry, Stephen. That’s not what I meant.”

Stephen looked at him, confused. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I’ve done a lot of bad things for Tony. Not just as his employee—but as his friend,” Steve said sincerely. “I just want to say I’m sorry. For everything.”

Stephen didn’t know how to respond. So he just nodded.

At the hospital, Dr. Tao greeted them with her usual warmth. “Stephen! How are you feeling today?”

“Great! Can I finally get rid of these?” he asked, wiggling his casted fingers with a pout.

She laughed. “Let’s take a look.”

A little while later, she gently removed the bandages. “Your arm’s healing well. The leg still needs support, but it’s coming along. You’ll experience some discomfort, so use these.” She handed him a pair of crutches.

Stephen sighed but nodded. “Thanks, Doc.”

Steve helped him back to the car, carrying the crutches. As they drove, Stephen stared ahead, then said, “You can drop me at my apartment. I’m fine now.”

Steve looked over, frowning. “Didn’t you hear the doctor? You still need help. You’re staying at the tower until you’re fully recovered.”

Stephen narrowed his eyes. “Are you and your boss trying to make me your slave too? Like Wanda and Natasha?”

Steve’s hands tightened slightly on the wheel. “Do you not trust us?”

Stephen laughed bitterly. “Why would an alpha ever care for an omega unless he wanted to take them to bed?”

Steve blinked, startled, then shook his head. “I’m not trying to take you to bed. I’m a married man. I love my husband—even if we’ve been apart for a while.”

Stephen turned to him, surprised. “You’re married?”

Steve nodded. “Yeah. I haven’t seen him in a long time. But I still wear the ring.”

Stephen was silent for a moment. “Then… why are you being nice to me?”

“Because we could be friends, you know?” Steve said, chuckling lightly. “If you want.”

Stephen stared at him, caught off guard by the simplicity of the offer.

“…Okay,” he said softly.

Steve smiled. “Then it’s settled.”

And for the first time in what felt like ages, Stephen allowed himself to believe that not everyone in Stark Tower wanted something from him.

Some might just want to care.

The rain that had fallen the day before had left the garden at Stark Tower glistening under the late afternoon sun. Drops clung to the leaves, and the scent of wet earth floated in the breeze. Stephen sat under a large tree in the garden, his crutches resting against the bench. He was still catching his breath from the walking exercise Steve had insisted on. For all his kindness, Steve had a persistent streak.

Stephen watched the koi swim lazily in the pond nearby, a small smile playing on his lips. He hadn’t smiled this way in a long time.

Back inside Stark Tower, Pepper stood with Tony in the sleek glass-and-metal confines of the upper-level meeting room, the walls around them humming faintly with JARVIS’s quiet presence.

“Tony, about the Asgard deal—are you really going to collaborate with them on weapon manufacturing?” Pepper asked, arms crossed.

“Yes,” Tony replied, not looking up from the interface he was scrolling through. “It’ll make things easier for us.”

“But it’s like giving up our monopoly in this field,” Pepper pointed out, eyeing him.

“What’s the point of keeping a monopoly?” Tony said, shrugging. “It’s all about profit.”

Pepper tilted her head, studying him.

“What?” he asked, frowning.

“You’re changing,” she said with a smirk.

Tony narrowed his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“The Tony Stark I knew loved power,” she said, walking over to the table. “It was never just about the money. You enjoyed people begging for your mercy.”

Tony let out a dry chuckle. “Maybe I want a break from all that.”

Pepper gave him a look, softer this time. “Yes, you need it. Take a break. Spend time with the people you love.”

He scoffed, almost bitterly. “Who’s there that I love?”

“I don’t know,” she said, turning to walk away. “You figure it out.”

Then she paused at the door, glanced over her shoulder, and added, “Stephen’s bandages are off. He might leave in a week. If you want to see him, you can.” She smirked knowingly, then walked out.

Tony stood there in silence for a moment. Then he whispered, “JARVIS, where is Stephen?”

“In the garden with Mr. Rogers,” the AI replied smoothly.

“What’s Rogers doing there?” Tony asked, already irritated.

“He’s assisting Mr. Strange with his walking exercises. Would you like to see the footage?”

“Yes,” Tony muttered.

A holographic display opened in front of him. There it was—Steve, his hand gently supporting Stephen’s waist, Stephen leaning on him, laughing. Laughing. Tony felt something hot twist in his chest. Jealousy.

“Tell Rogers to come here,” Tony ordered darkly.

Down in the garden, Steve was coaxing Stephen through another lap.

“Steve, that’s enough for today. I’m tired,” Stephen panted.

“Nope. Didn’t you hear the doctor? You need to walk at least an hour a day,” Steve said with a smile.

“Doesn’t your boss give you any other jobs besides babysitting me?” Stephen asked, rolling his eyes.

“For now, this is my job,” Steve chuckled.

“You’re annoying. Are you like this with your omega too?”

“Bucky? Yeah, he says the same thing,” Steve said fondly. “Once, he broke his arm, and I didn’t leave his side until he healed.”

“You really love him, don’t you?” Stephen asked with a smile.

“I do. I miss him, too.”

“Then why don’t you go see him?”

Steve’s face fell a little. “I can’t. Tony wouldn’t like that. Bucky’s still alive because I begged for his life. But the deal was—I can never see him again.”

Stephen’s brows knit. “Why would Stark want to kill him? Why are you working with someone like that?”

“It’s complicated,” Steve said, his voice quiet. “Tony’s my friend. Bucky… made mistakes. And I’m still trying to atone.”

Just then, JARVIS’s voice came through the speakers. “Mr. Rogers, the boss requests your presence in the lab.”

Steve sighed. “Duty calls. Want me to help you back?”

“No, I’ll sit here for a while,” Stephen said.

“Alright. Call me if you need anything,” Steve said gently and walked away.

The lab was cold and dimly lit. Tony stood by the worktable, his back to Steve.

“You wanted to see me?” Steve asked.

Tony didn’t turn around. “What’s your deal with Stephen?”

Steve blinked. “Nothing. I was helping him walk—”

“Don’t bullshit me, Rogers,” Tony snapped, spinning to face him. “You sniffing around him like a hungry alpha. You want to fuck him, don’t you?”

Steve’s face hardened. “No. I’m not.”

“Don’t lie. You see a pretty omega and suddenly Bucky’s not enough anymore?”

“Not everyone is like you, Tony,” Steve replied calmly. “You might see omegas as toys, but I don’t.”

Tony stepped closer, his eyes dark. “You miss your whore, that backstabbing bitch. You want to put your cock in someone else now, huh? But not him. Not Stephen.”

“Stop talking about Bucky like that!” Steve snapped. “You’ve done enough to both of us. And I’m still here, Tony. I stayed. Because you’re my friend.”

“I don’t forgive. I don’t forget. Stay away from Stephen. That’s not a request.”

“Why is he here, then?” Steve asked, scoffing. “What is he to you?”

Tony froze. Why was Stephen still here? What was he to him?

“…Leave,” Tony said finally, cold and clipped.

Steve didn’t say a word. He turned and left.

Meanwhile, Stephen was on a FaceTime call with Christine, curled up in bed.

“How are you feeling now?” she asked.

“I’m okay. When are you coming back?” Stephen replied.

“Next week. Did Stark talk to you?”

Stephen gave a dry laugh. “No. He never came to see me. And I’m glad.”

“Hopefully, he’s bored of you by now,” Christine teased.

“I hope so.”

Just then, the door opened. Stephen startled as Tony walked in. He instinctively tried to stand.

“Hey, easy,” Tony said, holding a hand out. “Sit down.”

Stephen slowly obeyed, watching him warily.

“I just wanted to check on you. Are you feeling better?”

“Yes,” Stephen said quietly.

Tony walked a little closer. Stephen flinched slightly, and Tony stopped.

“I’m not here to hurt you. I’m… I’m sorry. For everything,” Tony said. His voice didn’t carry its usual command. It almost sounded… uncertain.

Stephen stared. “What?”

“I know about your financial issues. I wanted to offer you a job,” Tony continued.

“As your whore?” Stephen scoffed. “And if I say no, will my friends get hurt?”

Tony shook his head. “No. A real job. Something that actually suits you. You have full freedom to say no.”

Stephen blinked. He wasn’t sure if this was a dream. Or if Tony Stark had been replaced by a pod person.

“…Why?” he asked finally.

“I wanted to apologize properly,” Tony said.

“You do that with everyone you hurt? Must be a long list,” Stephen muttered.

Tony was quiet. The silence stretched long enough that Stephen began to feel uneasy. “I—I’m sorry. That was rude.”

“You’re right,” Tony said. “It is a long list. Starting with you.”

He turned toward the door. “Good night.”

Stephen sat there stunned.

From the phone, Christine’s voice broke the silence: “Stephen, it seems like the devil’s becoming human.”

“You’re still there?” he asked, startled.

“Yep. Heard everything. You should take that job.”

“I don’t know…”

“Sleep on it. Call me tomorrow,” Christine said before hanging up.

Stephen lay back, staring at the ceiling. He still couldn’t tell what was happening.

But something was changing.

Chapter Text

In Stark's office, Tony sat behind his glass desk, absentmindedly staring at a holographic projection of the city below. His mind was elsewhere—buried deep in thoughts he didn’t know how to voice.

“Pep, I was thinking of opening a wing for medical innovation. What do you think?” he asked casually as Pepper walked in.

Pepper paused mid-step, caught off guard. “Medical innovation? You mean… like making medical equipment the way we make weapons?”

Tony shrugged. “Yes, kind of. Research too. Tech that can save lives. We’ve got the resources—let’s use them for something good. I want you to head it.”

Pepper raised a brow, surprised by the sudden idea and the unexpected trust. “Okay,” she said, still trying to read his expression.

“And…” Tony added, not meeting her gaze, “you can add Stephen to the team. He’s a doctor in the making, right?”

Pepper’s lips curled into a knowing smirk. “Oh, okay. Now I get it.”

Tony frowned. “What?”

“Nothing,” she said breezily. “I’ll get on this.”

Stephen had started to look forward to his daily walks—not just for the sake of his recovery but because they meant spending time with Steve. Unlike most alphas, Steve didn’t treat him like something fragile or owned. He spoke to him like a friend, listened without judgment, and never once made a pass.

But for the past two days, Steve had been gone. Wanda and Natasha helped him walk instead, but it wasn’t the same.

Stephen sat in his room, crutches by his side, staring at the door in hope. Maybe Steve would come in today. Maybe—

“Stephen?” Pepper’s voice broke his thoughts.

He turned. “Hey.”

“Ready for your walk? Wanda will help you,” she said.

“Where’s Steve?” he asked before he could stop himself.

“Steve went to Malibu with Thor Odinson. Company business. Why?” she asked.

Stephen looked away. “No reason. Just haven’t seen him.”

“Mmh.” Pepper walked closer and smiled. “Actually, I came with good news.”

“What now?” he asked, still distracted.

“We’re opening a new division at SI for medical innovation. We’d like to recruit you.”

Stephen blinked. “Medical innovation? Let me guess, Stark’s new plan to profit off people’s illnesses?”

“No. This is actually to help people. You could be part of that change,” Pepper said sincerely.

Stephen hesitated. “…I’ll think about it.”

“Take your time,” she said gently, before leaving.

Later, Stephen and Wanda were walking through the garden.

“Wanda, how long have you lived here?” Stephen asked.

“Since I was eight,” she said softly. “My parents died in an explosion. Mr. Stark took me and Nat in. We grew up here.”

“Did Stark ever… hurt you?”

“No,” Wanda replied. “Sometimes Mrs. Stark would let us play with Tony. She was kind. An omega, just like us. She used to run SI with Mr. Stark. She told us we could dream big, no matter our designation.”

Stephen had heard stories about Howard and Maria Stark—pillars of generosity and strength. But how had their son become… this?

Later, Stephen FaceTimed Christine.

“You say yes to Stark yet?” she asked.

“No,” he muttered.

“He’s offering a legit job, right? Something about medical tech?”

“Pepper said so.”

“Then what’s the problem? You need money. You’re not going to get it serving coffee.”

“I don’t trust him.”

“You don’t have to trust him. It’s just a job, not a promise ring. Take it. Get paid. Keep your distance.”

Stephen sighed. “Mmh… I’ll call Pepper.”

“Good.” She smiled. “Talk later.”

Restless, Stephen grabbed his crutches and wandered into the hallway, hoping the walk would ease the ache of disappointment.

He turned a corner—and stopped.

There was Steve, talking with Rhodey, his face animated in conversation.

“Steve!” Stephen called, his voice brightening.

Steve turned. His expression fell the moment he saw Stephen hobbling toward him. He rushed over to support him.

“Stephen, what are you doing alone?”

“I was bored. And… you’ve been gone,” Stephen said quietly. “Why didn’t you come see me?”

“I was… busy,” Steve said stiffly.

“I missed you.”

“You shouldn’t have,” Steve said, voice like ice.

Stephen blinked. “But you said we could be friends.”

“We can’t. I’m not allowed to.”

Stephen frowned. “Why?”

“Go back to your room, Stephen.”

“No. Tell me why.”

Steve hesitated, then finally admitted, “Tony doesn’t like it. He told me to stay away.”

Stephen’s stomach twisted. “Why does it matter what he thinks?”

“Because he’s my boss. And my friend.”

Stephen looked crushed. “I thought I was your friend.”

“I don’t want to cause you problems,” Steve said, softer now.

Stephen turned, heart pounding. “Then don’t talk to me again,” he snapped, limping away.

“Stephen, wait—let me help you.”

“You don’t care,” Stephen said, bitter and hurt. “Don’t pretend you do.”

Back in his room, Stephen seethed. Every time he tried to have something real, something normal, Stark’s shadow loomed over it.

“Jarvis,” he called. “I know you can hear me. I want to see Stark.”

There was a pause.

“Boss is on his way.”

Stephen sat on the bed, fury and confusion bubbling inside him.

Moments later, Tony entered, looking genuinely concerned.

“You called me. Are you okay?”

Stephen stood up, trembling. “No, I’m not fucking okay. You ruined my life, Stark. You destroyed it. And when I tried to end it, you brought me back. For what? So you could torment me longer?”

Tony didn’t flinch. “Stephen, I swear, that’s not—”

“Then what is it? I liked being with Steve. I felt normal. And then you told him to stay away. Who the hell are you to decide who I can talk to?”

“You… love Steve?” Tony asked, the words coming out smaller than he meant them to.

Stephen laughed coldly. “Maybe. What if I do? You going to kill him too? Like you did with his husband?”

“You don’t know what his husband did. He tried to have me and my family killed—”

“I don’t blame him. Hell, I think about killing you every day. I hate you. I hate you because you made me hate myself.”

Tony’s heart cracked at the venom in Stephen’s voice. But more than that—at the pain.

“Stephen, please… breathe—”

“Don’t touch me. If you touch me again, I’ll kill myself. I swear, I’ll—” Stephen’s breathing quickened, sharp gasps cutting through his words.

“Stephen!” Tony rushed forward as Stephen collapsed onto the bed.

“Jarvis—call the doctor. Get Pepper!”

“Already done, sir.”

Tony knelt by the bed, cupping Stephen’s face gently. “Stephen… Stephen, please…”

His hands shook as he brushed a curl from Stephen’s forehead. The words Stephen had thrown at him burned like fire—but none burned as much as the truth in them.

Stephen hated him.

And he couldn’t blame him.

But even so—Tony wanted him to forgive.

He didn’t deserve it.

But he still hoped.

Chapter Text

Morning sunlight spilled through the sheer curtains of Stephen’s room, a soft golden hue settling on the white walls and crisp sheets. The light was gentle—too gentle for the restlessness that stirred in Stephen’s chest. His eyes fluttered open to find Pepper sitting by his bedside, her expression calm but laced with concern.

“Hey, Stephen,” she said softly. “Are you okay now?”

Stephen’s throat felt dry. His voice cracked slightly when he replied, “I want to go home.”

Pepper blinked, caught off guard. “You’re not well yet.”

“I’ll never be well if I stay here,” Stephen said, his tone quiet but firm. There was a weariness in his voice, deeper than physical exhaustion. It came from months of surviving, breaking, healing, and fearing the next blow. “I need to leave.”

Pepper nodded slowly. She didn’t argue. She looked at him like someone who had seen too many people come undone—and knew when not to push. “Okay. We’ll arrange that. For now… just rest.”

She stood and walked out, her heels echoing softly through the hallway as she made her way to Tony’s room. She found him pacing restlessly, clearly waiting for news.

“Is he okay?” Tony asked the moment he saw her.

Pepper sighed, folding her arms. “Yes. But he wants to leave this place.”

Tony’s brows furrowed, and the breath he took was shallow and sharp.

Pepper’s voice dropped. “What did you do, Tony? He was… content here. Not happy, maybe. But safe. Comfortable. I gave him my word that he would be.”

“I need to talk to him,” Tony said.

Pepper gave him a long, searching look. “I don’t think he’ll be willing.”

“I still need to,” Tony replied, voice low but certain.

There was something in his face—an ache, an urgency—that made Pepper soften. “Alright. He’s in his room.”

Tony nodded once and walked off without another word.

Stephen sat upright on his bed, staring out the window. His crutches were by the door. His heart was a knot of tension. Maybe he should’ve left yesterday. Maybe staying this long had been a mistake.

The door creaked open.

Tony stepped in quietly.

Stephen’s body went rigid the moment he saw him. Without a word, he stood, grabbed his crutches, and limped toward the door.

“Stephen, I need to talk to you,” Tony said behind him.

“I don’t want to hear anything,” Stephen said, his voice low and cold.

“Stop.” Tony reached out and gently grabbed Stephen’s wrist—not forceful, just enough to make him pause.

“You’re not leaving here without me talking to you,” Tony said.

Stephen froze, the contact burning like fire against his skin. But for once, it wasn’t from fear. It was something else. Something confusing.

When Stephen didn’t respond, Tony continued, his tone surprisingly calm.

“You’re not my… sex toy anymore. I know that. That part of your life is over. I swear it.”

Stephen closed his eyes, his breath shaky.

“But the job offer I made? That still stands,” Tony said. “You can take it or leave it. I just wanted to be clear that… if you care about Rogers, and you think working here helps him or helps you—then do it. I won’t interfere. I won’t come between you two.”

Stephen turned, finally meeting Tony’s eyes. “I don’t love Steve.”

Tony blinked. “You don’t?”

“I see him as my friend. That’s all,” Stephen said, quieter this time.

“Oh,” Tony said, his voice softening. “Okay.”

He turned, starting to walk out of the room. But at the threshold, he paused.

“You don’t have to leave,” Tony said, his back still turned. “No one will interfere in your life here. If seeing me is the problem, I won’t come around. You’ll have your space. Your peace.”

And with that, he walked away.

Stephen sat back on the bed, his heart pounding—not from fear, but from the unsettling feeling of the world shifting again.

Why had Tony said all that? Why did he suddenly sound like a man who was trying to make amends?

Stephen didn’t know what scared him more—that Tony might be playing a game…

…or that he wasn’t.

The hallway lights flickered gently in the late afternoon gloom as Tony stood in the middle of his lab, arms crossed, face unreadable. The silence was interrupted only by the hum of his holographic displays and the distant sound of Jarvis announcing Steve’s arrival.

"Why did you want to see me, Tony?" Steve asked, stepping into the lab with a cautious expression.

Tony didn’t look up immediately. Then he spoke—quietly, but firmly.

“Stephen likes your company.”

Steve blinked. “Okay…”

“Be with him,” Tony continued. “Make him feel comfortable here.”

Steve narrowed his eyes, trying to understand where this sudden change was coming from. “Tony, why do you want to keep him here?”

Tony exhaled. “I’m responsible for what happened to him. I just… want to help.”

Steve’s brows raised ever so slightly. “So… you care about him.”

Tony’s expression darkened. “I don’t care about anyone.”

“Tony,” Steve said softly, his voice steady and laced with a trace of hope, “I know you do. We all miss the old you.”

Tony turned away, his fingers tightening around the edge of the workbench. “I don’t want to be that person again. That version of me was weak. Pathetic. Useless.”

“You weren’t—”

“This is who I am now,” Tony snapped. “And I’m not planning to change.”

Steve didn’t argue. He simply nodded and left, understanding that Tony’s heart, whatever pieces still remained of it, was a locked vault no one had the key to anymore.

Back in Stephen’s room, the atmosphere was still. The sun outside was beginning to set, casting long amber rays across the carpeted floor. Stephen sat on the edge of his bed, absentmindedly running his fingers over the crutch beside him when there was a knock, followed by a familiar voice.

“Hey,” Steve said, stepping inside.

Stephen didn’t respond.

“You’re not going to talk to me?” Steve asked gently.

“Why would you want to talk to me?” Stephen asked, eyes still on the floor. “I’m not your friend.”

“But you are,” Steve said. “And I’m sorry for what I said before. That wasn’t fair. You can call me anytime. I’ll be there for you.”

Stephen looked up, and a faint, reluctant smile pulled at his lips. “Good to know.”

Steve smiled. “Want to go for a walk?”

Stephen hesitated for a moment before nodding. “Yeah.”

Steve offered his arm, and Stephen accepted. Slowly, they made their way through the hallways, step by cautious step.

From the top floor balcony, Tony stood alone with a drink in his hand. The glass was cold against his palm, untouched. His eyes followed the figures below—Steve and Stephen walking side by side in the garden, their heads bent close in conversation. Laughter reached him even from the distance.

Stephen looked at ease. Genuinely happy.

And Tony knew in that moment: Stephen was never that way with me.

Tony swallowed hard, the ice in his glass melting fast. The bitter truth stung: he had become the storm that Stephen needed shelter from. And maybe, just maybe, letting him go was the only way to make it right.

Meanwhile, in the garden, the sun warmed Stephen’s skin and the air carried the faint scent of flowers. He leaned into the crutch as they walked past a row of cherry trees.

“Steve?” Stephen asked, his tone quiet, thoughtful.

“Yeah?”

“SI wasn’t always a criminal organization, right? What made Stark turn it into that?”

Steve sighed, glancing at the flowers before answering. “When Howard and Maria Stark were alive, SI was just a weapons supplier for the government. Strictly legal. But they were killed… by Tony’s godfather, Obadiah Stane. He was also Howard’s business partner.”

Stephen frowned. “Stane… I’ve heard that name.”

“After their deaths, Stane took over and forced Tony into the underground arms business. Tony was captured, tortured, pushed to the brink. When he came back, he wasn’t the same. He built this empire on control because that’s the only way he could survive.”

Stephen looked ahead, processing the weight of it. “And Howard? Was he… a good man?”

Steve shrugged. “He was a typical alpha. Looked down on omegas and betas. But he loved Maria. She softened him. Still, as a father… he wasn’t the best. Tony didn’t grow up feeling loved.”

Stephen nodded slowly. “Why does Stark hate your husband?”

Steve’s face tightened. “Bucky was Stane’s spy. He was ordered to keep tabs on Howard and ultimately leaked the route for the Starks’ final trip. It led to their deaths. But Bucky was just a pawn. He was manipulated. He confessed everything to me, but I was too scared to tell Tony. We kept it secret. When Tony found out, he nearly killed him.”

Stephen’s breath caught.

“I begged for Bucky’s life,” Steve continued. “Tony agreed to spare him… but made me promise I’d never see him again.”

“You never tried?” Stephen asked, softly.

“I miss him every day,” Steve replied. “But I won’t risk his life.”

Stephen was silent, heart aching. “You said Tony was your friend once.”

Steve’s smile was bittersweet. “He was like a brother. Now… he’s just a ghost in a suit of armor.”

“You don’t think anyone can bring the old Tony back?”

“That only happens in fairy tales, where the heroine saves the monster,” Steve said.

“Fairy tales can come true,” Stephen murmured.

“Then maybe you can give it a try,” Steve chuckled.

“I’m not going to,” Stephen said, wrinkling his nose.

They both laughed.

“Alright,” Steve said. “Should we head back?”

“Okay,” Stephen replied.

Later that night, Stephen lay on his bed, eyes open, staring at the ceiling.

Everything Steve said echoed in his head—about Tony, Bucky, the past, the hurt. Tony hadn’t always been cruel. The world had hardened him. Shattered him. And in turn, he shattered others.

But Stephen wasn’t a fairy tale heroine. And Tony Stark wasn’t a prince turned into a beast—he was a beast born of fire and steel.

Yet somewhere, buried beneath the scars and steel and cruelty… was there something still human?

Stephen didn’t know the answer.

Chapter Text

The garden glowed under the golden blush of the late afternoon sun, its petals and greenery untouched by the cold precision of Stark Tower. Among tall hedges and carefully tended blossoms, Stephen and Steve sat on the stone bench near the koi pond, basking in the rare warmth that felt far removed from the steel corridors and shadowed hallways.

This had become their little sanctuary—a place where nothing cruel could follow, and Stephen could just be.

"So," Steve said, eyes squinting against the light, "when are you starting your project?"

Stephen smiled faintly, gaze following the rippling water. "I don’t know. Pepper said we’ll begin once I feel better."

Steve chuckled. “You’ll be working with the brightest minds on the planet. That’s not bad company.”

Stephen’s eyes sparkled. “Does that include Dr. Banner?”

Steve grinned. “Of course. Bruce is a good friend—of both Tony and me.”

“Oh my god!” Stephen nearly squealed, his composure forgotten. “I’ve read all his papers—his work on gamma radiation, and the studies on radioprotectors as prophylactics? Genius. He practically redefined the field.”

“Hey, hey,” Steve interrupted, laughing, “English, please! Not all of us speak ‘nerd’.”

Stephen burst into a full laugh, tilting his head back. “Sorry! I got excited.”

“How did someone like you end up here anyway?” Stephen asked

Steve arched a brow. “Are you calling me dumb?”

Stephen leaned into him, looping their arms together.

“No. You’re the most loving, caring, sensitive—but still strong—alpha I’ve ever met.”

The warmth in his voice lingered in the silence that followed, delicate and intimate.

“Steve, can I ask you something?” Stephen asked softly.

“Yeah?”

“All this time... being away from your husband... you never felt anything for another omega?”

Steve didn’t hesitate. “No. I’m devoted to him. Always.”

Stephen looked down, his voice growing quieter. “He’s lucky.”

“You’ll be lucky like that too,” Steve said gently.

Stephen’s eyes lifted to meet his. “I thought I was lucky, once. I had a boyfriend—he loved me, or so I thought. After my family disowned me, he was all I had. Then he left. I can’t blame him. Who wants a used-up slut like me?”

His voice cracked at the end, tears shimmering in his eyes.

“Don’t say that,” Steve murmured, cupping his cheek with a firm, reassuring hand. “There will be someone who loves you, who sees what you’re worth.”

Stephen looked into Steve’s steady blue eyes, trembling with emotion. He leaned forward slightly, lips parting.

“I wish I was Bucky,” he whispered.

But before he could close the distance, Steve’s hands caught him, stopping him gently.

“Stephen, no,” he said softly.

Stephen froze, eyes widening as he realized what he was doing. “I… I’m sorry. Please don’t hate me.”

“Hey,” Steve said, guiding him gently back. “It’s okay. You’ll always be my friend. No matter what.”

“And you don’t have to be Bucky to be loved,” he continued, brushing Stephen’s hair back from his forehead.

“Someone will treasure you, because you are precious. You’re not broken, Stephen. You’re amazing. And if your ex couldn’t see that? That’s his loss.”

Stephen’s eyes brimmed over, tears sliding down as he closed them.

Steve leaned in and kissed his forehead softly—not out of desire, but out of comfort. It was a quiet promise. A bond.

Stephen let the tears fall freely, and Steve pulled him into a warm, protective hug.

For the first time in a long time, Stephen didn’t feel dirty in an alpha’s arms. He felt safe.

After a while, Steve said teasingly, “Stephen, I heard your idol Banner is coming tomorrow. Don’t trip and embarrass yourself.”

Stephen laughed into his shoulder. “I’ll try not to faint.”

This—this was good. Steve wasn’t a lover. He was something rarer. A shield. A brother. Someone who didn’t want anything from him but wanted him to be whole. And that was worth cherishing.

Elsewhere in the tower, Tony sat in the sleek, glass-walled meeting room. It overlooked the city, glowing like molten gold beneath the sky. But Tony wasn’t interested in the view.

The doors opened with a quiet hiss, and in walked Bruce Banner—tousled, awkward, wearing a brown cardigan too big for him and glasses that slipped slightly down his nose.

“Hey, Banner,” Tony said, rising to greet him. “How’ve you been?”

“I’m good,” Bruce said with a soft smile. “This a business meeting, Tony?”

“Kind of. Stark Industries is opening a medical innovation wing. And I can’t think of anyone better to head it.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow, folding his arms. “Medical innovation? From you?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony said, waving a hand. “You can hire whoever you want. Pepper’s got the budget. But one team member is already assigned.”

He projected a hologram into the air. Stephen’s profile lit up—student of medicine, specializing in neuroscience, top of his class.

“Stephen Strange,” Tony said.

Bruce scanned the file, nodding slowly. “Impressive. Brilliant academic track record.”

“I knew you’d say that,” Tony replied.

Bruce looked up, serious now. “But Tony—no weapons, no shady research. If I do this, it’s for people. For healing. Not for war.”

“I promise,” Tony said, voice low. “No bad intentions.”

Bruce studied his old friend. “Alright. I’ll start assembling the team.”

They shared a brief smile. It was strange… like looking at ghosts.

“So,” Bruce said, “how’s my old pal doing?”

Tony scoffed. “You saw the headlines.”

“I can’t believe the sweet boy I knew in school turned into… this.”

Tony’s smile faded. “That boy’s dead. And he’s not coming back.”

Bruce didn’t argue. He just nodded, quietly saddened, and watched Tony leave the room.

Later that night, Tony sat alone in his dark suite, drink in hand, staring out at the city.

“Jarvis,” he said quietly, “how is Stephen?”

“He is adjusting. He has been spending a lot of time with Mr. Rogers,” Jarvis replied. “Would you like to see the footage?”

Tony closed his eyes. “No. I want him to be happy. That’s all.”

There was a long silence.

The drink trembled slightly in his hand as he took a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He was used to loneliness—it was the armor he’d built long before the suits. But tonight, it pressed in on him, heavy and sharp-edged.

He had always worn the title of monster with pride.

But now, somehow… it hurt.

And that hurt made him wonder: was there anything left of the boy Bruce remembered?

Or had he buried that too deep to ever find again?

Chapter Text

Stephen stood at the edge of the room, nervously twisting the hem of his sleeve. The project—his dream, his chance—was finally beginning. And yet, there was a knot in his stomach. It wasn’t the nerves of a fresh start. It was fear. Stark would be with him in the lab, and that terrified him.

There was something about the man—something that made Stephen feel constantly exposed, like prey in a room with a predator. Stark had already crossed the line, had already taken what wasn’t his to take. And now, every glance from him felt like a threat, every passing silence charged with the memory of those nights. Stephen lived with the fear that it would happen again—that the next time Stark caught him alone, there would be no escape. His presence clung to the air like smoke from a fire that never truly went out, and Stephen couldn’t breathe around it.

But there was no way out. Stephen was now under Stark’s roof, under Stark’s protection—whatever that meant. He couldn't run.

A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts.

“Stephen, are you ready?” Pepper asked, peeking in with a small smile.

“Yes,” he replied, forcing a calmness he didn’t feel.

“Okay, come with me. Everyone is waiting.”

Stephen nodded and followed her down the sleek, quiet hallways of Stark Tower. Every step closer to the lab made his chest tighten. But when he entered, the fear gave way—just for a moment—to awe.

It was unlike anything he’d ever seen.

The lab was a masterpiece. Polished steel and shimmering glass, glowing tech panels, and holograms that responded to voice and thought. He had read countless articles about the famed Stark Labs, but nothing prepared him for being inside it. It was the future built into the present.

And inside stood Stark—of course—with two others.

Tony's gaze found him instantly. “Here comes your new teammate—Stephen Strange. Mr. Strange, meet Dr. Helen Cho and Dr. Jemma Simmons.”

The two women offered him polite smiles. Stephen returned the gesture, clutching the strap of his satchel a little tighter.

Tony continued, “The team leader isn’t here yet. We’ll begin once he arrives.”

Right on cue, Bruce Banner stumbled in, breathless.

“Apologies! New York traffic is brutal,” he said sheepishly, adjusting his glasses.

Stephen’s face lit up like a child’s. Bruce Banner. Dr. Bruce Banner. He could hardly contain his excitement.

“Come on in, Bruce,” Tony said, smirking. “Your team’s all here. And meet Stephen Strange.”

Stephen stepped forward. “Hi, Doctor. I’m a big fan—huge, actually. I’ve read all your papers, especially the one on radiation theory and neural pathways. It changed the way I looked at neurodegeneration. I’ve always wanted to meet you, sir.”

Bruce laughed, raising his hands. “Hey, hey—easy. We’ve got time. I’m not going anywhere. And I’m impressed, Stephen. Tony didn’t exaggerate your credentials. Glad to have you on board.”

“Thank you, sir,” Stephen mumbled, cheeks burning in embarrassment.

Tony watched quietly. The flush on Stephen’s face, the spark in his eyes, the way his hands nervously shifted.

Adorable.

That word hit him like a slap. Adorable.

He had never used that word before. Not for an omega. Not for anyone, really. Omegas were supposed to be seductive, needy, sultry—at least that’s how Tony had always seen them. Not… this.

He shook the thought away.

“Alright,” Tony said, clearing his throat. “You all can get started. Jarvis will assist with anything you need.”

And with that, he turned and left the lab.

Stephen couldn’t help the sigh of relief that slipped out as Stark walked away. He hadn't even realized how tense he’d been until the man left the room.

“Shall we begin?” Bruce asked, clapping his hands together.

“Yes!” the others chimed in, energy buzzing in the air.

That night, Stephen sat cross-legged on the bed, phone cradled between his shoulder and ear.

Christine’s voice crackled through. “So, how was the first day?”

Stephen smiled, warmth flooding his voice. “It was amazing. Christine, I met Dr. Banner! Can you believe it? He’s brilliant and—God, he’s so humble! He actually listened to me, and he was open to ideas and... kind.”

“That’s great! Sounds like you're loving this.”

“I am,” he admitted, his voice softer now. “It feels like a dream... a good one, for once.”

“Was Stark around?”

Stephen’s voice dropped an octave. “Thankfully, no. He introduced me and left. Didn’t interfere.”

Christine went quiet for a second before speaking gently. “Be careful, Stephen.”

Stephen let out a small, wet laugh. “What can I even do, Christine? If he wants to rape me, he can just walk in here. I don’t have locks. I don’t have freedom. This isn’t my home. It’s his.”

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

“It’s okay. I should sleep. Big day tomorrow,” he said, trying to make it sound light.

“Good night, Stephen. Please take care.”

“Night.”

He ended the call and lay back on the bed. The mattress was soft, the sheets expensive—but none of it comforted him. This wasn’t where he belonged. He missed his apartment, his books, the feeling of safety.

But Steve’s presence, and the thrill of the project, gave him a faint thread of hope to hold on to.

Across the tower, Tony lay in his own bed. His suite was luxurious, the city stretching out beyond the floor-to-ceiling glass windows.

But he couldn’t sleep.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Stephen.

Not the way he usually saw omegas—in bed, flushed and pliant, begging for touch. No. He saw Stephen laughing nervously, eyes shining with wonder in the lab. He saw the little curl of hair that fell across his forehead when he spoke too fast. He saw the redness in his cheeks, the way he bit his lip when flustered.

Adorable. The word rang again.

Tony groaned, dragging a hand down his face.

This wasn’t him. He didn’t do “adorable.” He didn’t do feelings.

Love made people soft. Love made people weak.

And he couldn’t afford to be weak—not now.

Especially not for someone like Stephen, who hated him, who feared him.

And who would never—ever—return those feelings.

Tony sat up, running his hands through his hair with a sigh.

This was bad.

Really bad.

Chapter Text

Tony Stark had tried everything to forget about the boy.

He had buried himself in distractions—omega models with perfect smiles, charming betas who didn’t ask too many questions, and even a few fragile alphas who wanted to say they’d spent a night with Iron Man. But no matter who he touched, no matter how many nights he spent pretending, it never worked. The moment his body went still, the moment the lights dimmed and silence wrapped around him like a shroud—Stephen’s face would return. In a smile, a laugh, a flick of his wrist.

And every night, like a ritual, Tony avoided Stephen during the day only to give in to temptation after sundown.

“Jarvis,” he’d say, his voice low and worn, “play lab footage. The one from this morning.”

And Jarvis would oblige—Stephen at his workstation, sleeves rolled up, hair a little messy from running his fingers through it, talking excitedly to Wanda and Natasha, laughing with Steve like he belonged there, like he was finally happy.

Tony’s heart would ache at the sight. Not because Stephen was happy—but because he was happy without him. Tony wasn’t part of that world, not anymore. Not after everything.

Sleep was impossible tonight. Again. So Tony gave in and walked out of his room, his bare feet silent against the cool floors. The lab was a place he hadn’t entered in weeks—not since Bruce and Stephen had claimed it as their own little kingdom of science. But something in him missed it. Missed the hum of invention, the smell of solder and coffee. The place where he once felt most alive.

The doors slid open soundlessly. And there it was—the quiet blue glow of the lab, a soft hum of technology still awake. And a familiar voice.

“Jarvis, what do you think? Will this work?”

“We have to run a test, Mr. Strange. But it is unlikely to succeed. The variable still doesn’t align with the neural signal.”

Stephen let out a groan and flopped back into his chair, utterly defeated. “I really want to get this right. I want to impress Dr. Banner. Why can't I figure this out?”

Tony couldn't help it—he chuckled softly. The sight of Stephen pouting like a child over complex code was... endearing.

Stephen’s head snapped up, alarmed. He jumped to his feet the moment he spotted Tony.

“What are you doing in my lab at this time?” Tony asked, half-smiling, trying to keep his tone light.

“I—sorry. I’ll leave.” Stephen’s voice was small, his posture already retreating.

But Tony was standing in the doorway, arms folded, not budging. “Wait. Let me see what’s bothering you.”

“I... I can work on it tomorrow,” Stephen muttered, eyes darting like a cornered animal. “I’ll go.”

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Tony said quietly, something soft and almost broken in his voice. “I promise.”

Stephen blinked in confusion, still not moving.

“I just want to help,” Tony said, glancing away before continuing, “Keeping the distance, okay?”

Then he stepped into the lab like he used to—like he owned the place. Technically, he still did.

Stephen followed, hesitant but unable to say no. He stopped beside Tony, close but careful, like he was standing next to a wild beast unsure if it would lash out or not.

Tony gestured to the holographic projection. “J, what am I looking at?”

“Mr. Strange has been attempting to match a neural signal to a variable input, to help calibrate machine learning protocols. The attempt is mathematically sound, but ineffective.”

Tony scanned the glowing lines of code. His brain clicked into gear. The language was familiar—his own system—and the pieces fell into place with ease.

“Bruce couldn’t figure this out?” he asked, amused.

“Dr. Banner assigned me to solve it,” Stephen replied quietly.

Tony raised two fingers in a beckoning gesture. “Come here.”

Stephen didn’t move at first. But then, slowly, cautiously, he stepped closer.

“You see what’s missing?” Tony asked.

“If I did, I would’ve fixed it already,” Stephen muttered, almost defensively.

Tony smirked. “Smartass.”

“I—sorry—”

“Nah,” Tony said with a soft chuckle. “You’re clever. But not quite enough for this one.”

He leaned over the console, fingers dancing across the keys. “The problem is, you’re trying to find a variable that matches. But neural signals are chaotic—they’re not meant to match anything. What you need isn’t a variable—it’s a constant. Anchor the chaos, and you’ll find the pattern.”

He typed in the new equation and stepped back. “J, run it.”

A second of silence.

“Model successful,” Jarvis confirmed. “Output optimized.”

Tony turned to Stephen with a victorious grin. “See?”

Stephen stared at the code, eyes wide. “Wow… why didn’t I think of that?”

His voice was filled with awe. And in the dim blue light of the lab, the expression on his face—wonder and admiration—made Tony’s breath catch. He looked so beautiful, lit by equations and curiosity.

Stephen turned, sensing the weight of Tony’s gaze. “Thanks,” he said softly.

“You’re welcome,” Tony replied, leaning on the table.

But even that small movement made Stephen flinch.

Tony saw it. Felt it like a punch to the chest. The way Stephen's whole body tensed, the fear in his eyes—like he still expected to be hurt.

Tony stepped back immediately.

Stephen shifted uncomfortably. “Uh… can I go?”

“Sure. Goodnight,” Tony said, forcing a smile.

Stephen nodded quickly and nearly ran out of the lab.

And that—that hurt.

Tony sat down in the chair Stephen had just vacated, breathing in the faint scent left behind. It smelled like soap and cedar and something uniquely Stephen.

His fingers gripped the edge of the table. “What the hell am I doing?” he whispered.

Stephen’s footsteps echoed through the corridor, hurried and nervous. He kept glancing over his shoulder, half-expecting Stark to follow, to corner him. He knew, logically, he couldn’t outrun the man. But his body didn’t care. Instinct overrode reason, and his legs carried him back to his room as fast as they could.

He collapsed onto the bed, heart still racing.

“Jarvis?” he asked the ceiling, voice quiet.

“Yes, Mr. Strange?” the AI responded calmly.

“Can I lock the door to my room? Or will your boss be able to open it anyway?”

“You may lock your room,” Jarvis replied. “However, I will grant access to the boss if he requests it.”

“Of course you will,” Stephen muttered.

There was a pause.

“But Mr. Strange,” Jarvis added, “I can assure you—Mr. Stark will not enter unless you ask him to.”

Stephen blinked. “How are you sure?”

“I have monitored him closely these past few days. He does not wish to frighten you.”

Stephen looked up at the ceiling as if Jarvis lived somewhere in it. Then, quietly, he pulled the silk blanket over himself, as though it could shield him from memories, from hands that lingered too long, from a gaze that felt too heavy.

Still, he couldn’t deny it—Tony Stark was a genius. The man solved the equation in minutes like it was child’s play.

But that didn’t make him good. It didn’t make him safe. Or lovable.

Stephen exhaled shakily and closed his eyes, clinging to the warmth of the blanket and the silence of the room.

Tomorrow would come. But tonight, he just wanted to sleep and forget.

If only he could.

“Good job, Stephen. This is really remarkable,” Bruce said, eyes fixed on the final data projection.

Stephen nodded, though he didn’t quite smile. “Thanks, Doctor.”

“I didn’t expect you to crack it this fast,” Bruce added, visibly impressed.

Stephen let out a breath and lowered his gaze. The praise felt warm, but undeserved. Because it hadn’t been his solution—it had been Tony’s. Even if he executed it, even if Jarvis had validated his efforts, the breakthrough had belonged to Stark. That gnawed at Stephen in a place he couldn’t name.

Still, he nodded again and forced a polite smile. “I appreciate that.”

Bruce clapped him on the shoulder with a smile. “Let’s move on to the next step then. We’ve got momentum now.”

Stephen returned to work, letting the hum of machines and murmurs of equations pull him away from the ache in his chest.

Later that day, when the air had cooled and the shadows in the garden stretched longer under the golden sun, Stephen sat alone beneath the wisteria-draped pergola. He let the soft rustling of leaves and the faint buzz of distant drones lull his mind. His laptop was closed beside him, untouched. The earth beneath his sandals felt cooler than usual.

“Hey,” came a voice, familiar and calm.

Stephen looked up. Steve Rogers was walking toward him, a clipboard under one arm, his steps unhurried. He dropped down beside Stephen on the stone bench with the weight of a man used to carrying burdens heavier than paper.

“Hi,” Stephen greeted, giving a small smile. “Where were you? I was bored out of my mind here.”

Steve chuckled. “I was managing the Odinson Accords. It’s a big deal for SI.”

Stephen’s brows lifted. “Another man-killing accord?” he asked dryly, almost teasing, but there was an edge to his tone.

Steve gave a small shrug. “I don’t know. Weapons are made to kill, I guess. Even when they’re made to protect.”

Stephen hummed in response, eyes tracing the edge of a petal near his hand.

Steve turned to him after a moment. “So, how have your days been? Did you finally meet your idol?”

Stephen laughed softly, a bit of genuine amusement blooming through the doubt. “Yeah. He’s… great.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “That’s all?”

Stephen shrugged, a strange smile playing at his lips. “That’s all I’m willing to say.”

“Well,” Steve said, stretching his legs out, “don’t get too used to him. Tomorrow, we’re flying out to the Netherlands for a meeting.”

Stephen looked over. “We?”

“Me, Rhodey, Pepper… and Tony,” Steve said casually.

Stephen blinked at the mention of the name. And then, unexpectedly, a smile broke across his face. A real, wide smile.

“Oh,” he said, with a breathy chuckle. “Your boss is going too? That’s great.”

Steve looked surprised at the reaction. “Is it?”

Stephen leaned back on the bench, letting the sunlight kiss his cheek. “Yeah. I can finally sleep without fear for once.”

Steve didn’t answer immediately. He turned to study Stephen’s profile—how the golden light softened the curve of his jaw, how his lashes fluttered as he stared at the sky.

“I’m sorry,” Steve said gently.

Stephen turned his head slightly. “For what?”

“For what happened. For what you went through.” Steve's voice was low, like he didn’t want the trees to overhear. “But I can assure you, Tony won’t bother you again.”

Stephen's smile faltered. His eyes darkened just slightly, and his voice grew sharper. “Why? He found another poor soul to torture?”

Steve inhaled slowly. “I don’t know what’s going on in his head. But I’ve seen him these past few weeks. Whatever hold he thought he had on you—it’s gone. And I don’t think he wants to cause harm anymore.”

Stephen was quiet. His fingers picked absently at a stray thread on his sleeve. “I wish I could believe that.”

There was silence between them for a moment, thick with things unsaid. The kind of silence that clung to the ribs.

Then, mercifully, Steve changed the subject. “Alright, tell me about your project. I want to know everything you’ve been working on.”

Stephen’s eyes lit up, grateful for the shift. He launched into a ramble about the recent neural equation, about data mapping, and the new interface model that was being tested. His hands moved excitedly as he talked—sketching invisible lines in the air, eyes bright with possibility.

Steve watched, smiling softly. He didn’t interrupt. He just listened, offering nods and small questions, letting the younger man speak freely, safely.

In that moment, with the sun warming his back and a friend by his side, Stephen felt—if only for a while—like maybe the world wasn’t such a dangerous place after all.

Chapter Text

The meeting room was vast and bathed in cold white light, its silence cut only by the gentle hum of the air vents. Tony Stark sat at the long obsidian table, flanked by Steve Rogers and James Rhodes. He wore his usual confidence like armor, fingers steepled before him, sharp gaze unwavering.

Across from them sat Odin Borson—the seasoned titan of the European arms industry—and his sons, Thor and Loki. Odin’s presence was regal, old-world, and unyielding, with a knowing smirk playing on his lips.

“So, Mr. Stark,” Odin began, voice booming yet controlled, “this is our final meeting regarding the industrial alliance. America and the Asian bloc will be yours. Europe and the Mediterranean fall under my house’s reach. What do you think?”

Tony didn’t even blink. “I’m aligned.”

“Excellent.” Odin leaned back with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “This union will be fruitful, Mr. Stark. And… we’re also interested in other kinds of unions.”

Tony arched an eyebrow. “I don’t understand.”

“Like family,” Odin clarified. “Marriage, specifically. My younger son Loki is a fine omega.”

Tony’s gaze flicked to the dark-haired omega seated beside Thor. Loki’s expression was a storm barely contained. His slender frame was taut with fury, lips pressed into a thin line as he shot a glare at his father. But even through the indignation, Tony could see it—Loki was fine. Beautiful, actually. In a sharp, detached, don’t-you-dare-touch-me kind of way.

Tony stood. “That’s a discussion for another day, Mr. Odin. Today, the alliance is all I’m here for.”

He turned on his heel and strode out of the room, Rhodes and Steve falling into step behind him.

“Boss?” Steve asked softly as they entered the corridor.

“Yes, Rogers?” Tony responded without slowing.

“Since we’re in the area… can I go see Bucky? Just for a moment?” There was hope in Steve’s voice, hesitant and childlike.

Tony stopped. His expression didn’t change as he turned his head slightly.

“You can.”

Steve’s face lit up with gratitude—until Tony added, coolly, “But come back with his head. That was our pact, wasn’t it? If you ever saw him again, you’d kill him.”

The hallway went still. Steve’s breath hitched, face paling. It was as though Tony had stabbed him without lifting a finger.

Rhodey said nothing, only offered a brief, apologetic glance to Steve before following Tony out.

Alone in the Foreign Tower

Tony had to remain in Europe for a few more days—contract signings, diplomatic nods, the endless bureaucracy. But his mind was back home. Back in the tower.

Back with Stephen.

He sat alone in his guest suite, cold drink untouched, eyes glued to a flickering holographic screen. Footage played on loop—Stephen in the garden, laughing with Wanda and Natasha, dancing barefoot on the grass, voice lifted in song. That brightness, so raw and real, was something Tony hadn’t expected.

He watched the omega spin in joy, arms tangled with Wanda’s, all soft curls and warm giggles. He looked alive.

Happy.

Something Tony rarely saw in his presence.

The door hissed open.

“Tony?” Pepper called.

With a flick of his wrist, the footage vanished.

“What is it?” he asked curtly.

Pepper approached, tablet in hand. “Your schedule for tomorrow—”

“Tell Jarvis,” Tony interrupted, not meeting her eyes.

She hesitated, sighed softly. “Alright. Good night.”

As she exited, Steve lingered behind.

“Something to say, Rogers?” Tony asked, voice cold as steel, eyes flicking back to the footage, already resuming.

Steve stepped forward, quiet but resolute. “I miss my husband. And it’s not your call to decide if I see him or not.”

Tony turned sharply, rage glinting in his eyes.

“Your husband,” he spat, “is a traitor. He killed my mother—the woman who knew nothing but love. She raised you like her own. She loved you more than she ever loved me. And you still want me to forgive the man who took her away?”

His voice cracked, not with weakness, but with restrained grief.

“I let him live, Rogers. That’s all the mercy I can afford.”

Steve’s jaw clenched. “Tony, I—”

“Leave,” Tony said, voice a blade. “And if you plan to sneak off to see him, I’ll make sure his life is a living hell.”

Steve glanced at the screen again. There was Stephen, laughing, radiant in his innocence.

And then Steve saw it.

The way Tony looked at him.

It was the same way Steve used to look at Bucky—before the war, before the blood, before everything fell apart.

Tony Stark is falling in love.

And Stephen… Stephen was a soft soul. Too pure. Too gentle.

Steve left quietly, sorrow thick in his chest.

Back at the Tower

Stephen lay on the lounge chair, sunlight casting a golden sheen over his skin as he laughed with Natasha and Wanda.

“Stephen, I’ve never seen you this happy before,” Nat said, stretching lazily beside him.

Stephen grinned. “I’m just glad your boss isn’t here.”

Wanda chuckled. “He’ll be back in two days.”

“Yeah. That’s what scares me.”

“Alphas,” Wanda muttered, rolling her eyes. “They’re all the same.”

“Not everyone,” Nat replied.

“There are people who really care,” Stephen added, voice softening. “Like Steve.”

He paused, eyes thoughtful.

“Do you know anything about Bucky?”

Wanda and Nat exchanged a look.

“Bucky was a good friend,” Natasha said. “Funny, kind. A bit of a troublemaker. He came here when he was seventeen—Mrs. Stark brought him in. We grew up together.”

“Steve and Bucky were inseparable,” Wanda added. “Mrs. Stark arranged their marriage. She adored them.”

Stephen’s brows lifted in surprise. “Mrs. Stark arranged their marriage?”

“Oh, yes. I still remember how happy Tony was that day,” Natasha said, her tone wistful. “He practically lit up the whole tower.”

Stephen grew quiet. He’d never met Mrs. Stark. But through everyone’s stories, he saw the picture forming—a kind woman, warm and generous. A mother who created light in a cold tower.

He understood then.

Why Tony was the way he was.

Maria Stark must have brought out the best in him. Without her, the darkness took hold. Her absence created a void so deep, it swallowed Tony whole.

And perhaps…

Stephen wondered if, just maybe, he could reach the light inside him again.

If there was still a heart left, beneath all the steel.

But Stephen hated Stark—there was no doubt about that. If given the chance, he’d drive a knife straight through his heart. But he was a doctor, not a killer. Still, if he were being honest, Stephen wanted to see Stark fall apart—inch by inch, piece by piece.

Chapter Text

The tower was unusually quiet. Peaceful, even. With Tony and the rest of the team back from the diplomatic mission, Stephen finally found a rare pocket of serenity. No quick retorts echoing through the hallway, no dramatic entries, no clanking footsteps laced with arrogant purpose. For once, the air didn’t carry the scent of engine oil or cologne.

Stephen took a deep breath, soaking in the Stark-free silence. He wasn’t sure if he should feel guilty for enjoying it.

But there was one thing he wasn’t indifferent about—Steve was coming back.

He checked the time. His heart beat a little faster as he made his way to the usual spot—just past the hallway that overlooked the training deck, a quiet space they’d unknowingly claimed as their own. A place that felt safe from everything else.

He heard the soft shuffle of boots before he saw him.

Steve walked slowly toward him, the edges of his uniform dusted from travel. His shoulders looked heavier than usual, like the weight of more than one world rested on them.

Stephen closed the distance in a few strides and wrapped his arms around him, holding on tighter than he intended.

“I missed you,” he whispered into Steve’s shoulder, letting the words fall freely.

Steve pulled back, managing a faint smile. But there was something wrong. Stephen saw it immediately—the gloss in his eyes, the slight downturn of his mouth.

“What happened?” Stephen asked, concern slipping into his voice.

Steve hesitated for a moment, then sighed. “I thought I could see Bucky again… But—”

“But what?” Stephen asked, his chest already tightening.

“Tony didn’t allow it.”

Stephen’s face twisted in disbelief. “For God’s sake, Steve. Why do you keep listening to him? Just quit this job. Live your life.”

Steve looked away. His jaw clenched, but his voice remained calm. “I can’t. I owe everything to Mr. Stark… and Mrs. Stark. Tony’s like a brother to me.”

Stephen’s laugh was bitter, dry. “What kind of brother does that? God, I hate him.”

Steve’s smile returned, this time almost amused. “But I think Tony is on the other side now.”

Stephen frowned. “What?”

“He’s kind of… like you,” Steve said. “Not like the way he’s been with omegas before. He genuinely cares about you.”

Stephen scoffed, folding his arms across his chest. “That monster? Care about someone? That’s impossible.”

“I’ve seen him my whole life, Stephen,” Steve said quietly. “I’ve never seen him like this. Never seen him smitten like this.”

“So what, you’re saying I should forget everything he’s done and be his sweet little omega?” Stephen asked, irritation rising in his throat.

“No,” Steve replied gently. “You deserve only the best. Someone who cherishes you. Tony… Tony isn’t the one.”

A pause.

“But,” Steve added softly, “if Tony loves someone… he will burn the world for them.”

Stephen’s lips pressed into a thin line. His heart thudded once, loud in his ears. “I don’t want someone who burns the world,” he said slowly. “I want someone who thinks I’m in their world.”

Steve gave him a warm, gentle smile that held both pride and sympathy.

Stephen looked away, trying to shake the weight of the conversation. But his mind betrayed him, clinging to that one detail.

Tony… smitten?
Tony… cares?

He shook his head, frustrated at the flutter of curiosity taking root in his chest.

It was absurd.

And yet…
If Stark did feel something more—if love, or whatever version he understood of it, burned inside him—Stephen wanted to find out.

Not for love.
Not for hope.
But for truth.

He would test the theory. Carefully. Strategically. Like a chess match played on fire.

Stephen knew he was playing with something dangerous, something that could scorch his heart. But maybe, this time he wasn’t walking into the blaze empty-handed.

The soft whirring of tools, the low hum of AI systems, and the scent of metal, grease, and something faintly citrusy filled the air.

Tony was back where he belonged—his sanctuary. The lab.

It had been days since he had a moment to himself, just him and his machines. A blank interface on the screen, a spark in his palm, the mechanical whine of something that could one day fly. This was peace in the chaos.

He was mid-adjustment on a component when Jarvis’s calm voice broke the silence.

“Boss, Mr. Strange is walking toward the lab.”

Tony’s fingers paused over the arc welder. His brow furrowed. “Is this late-night working thing a usual habit?”

“Yes, sir. He’s been coming frequently while you were away.”

Tony didn’t respond for a moment, then sighed. “Okay. Don’t lock the door. Let him in.”

Just a minute later, the door slid open with a gentle hiss. Stephen stepped in quietly, dressed in a soft hoodie and sweatpants, sleeves slightly pushed up, a book in hand, but paused at the threshold like he’d walked into the wrong room.

“Oh—Mr. Stark,” he said, eyes widening slightly. “I didn’t realize you were back. I’ll leave.”

Tony looked up from his workstation, wiping his hands on a cloth. “Come on in. If you're here, it must mean something important.”

Stephen offered a weak, uncertain smile. “Nothing important, really. Just couldn’t sleep… thought I’d work a bit. I forgot you were back.”

Tony leaned back against the counter, arms folded. “The lab’s big enough for both of us. Or… do you want me to leave?”

Stephen blinked, clearly thrown by the question. “It’s your lab, Mr. Stark. How could I possibly cast you out?”

“I’ll leave,” Tony said softly, “if you ask me to.”

That made Stephen freeze for a second. The words weren’t laced with sarcasm or smugness. They were just… quiet. Honest.

He met Tony’s gaze and, for the first time in a long while, didn’t see the usual arrogance swimming in his eyes. There was something else there—something softer, hesitant even.

Different.

Before, Tony’s eyes saw him like a possession. Something shiny and temporary, meant to be used, worn down, and tossed aside. But now… Stephen wasn’t sure what this look meant. And that unsettled him more than anything else.

“I won’t disturb you,” he said instead, motioning toward the corner. “I’ll work over there.”

Tony nodded with a small shrug. “Okay.”

Stephen walked to the farthest table, placing his book and notes down. He set up quietly, opening diagrams and scribbling calculations, letting the silence settle again. Only the distant sounds of clicking tools and scribbled pen ink filled the space between them.

Tony tried to focus on the project before him—a new propulsion module that had been half-done for weeks. But his eyes… they betrayed him.

Every few moments, they strayed.

Stephen had his head bent toward his notes, strands of hair falling into his face. His fingers were ink-stained, moving quickly as he annotated a complicated design. His brow furrowed in deep concentration, lips pursed into a slight pout of frustration.

Cute, Tony thought, before quickly shaking it off.

He clenched his jaw and forced himself to look away.

He didn’t want Stephen to feel watched. Not by him. Not after everything.

So he went back to work. Or at least tried to.

Stephen, for his part, kept his gaze fixed on his diagrams, but he could feel it—the occasional flicker of Tony’s attention on him, like heat brushing the side of his cheek. He didn’t acknowledge it. Not outwardly. But it was there, constant and cautious.

And something about it wasn’t threatening. Not like before.

He didn’t understand it.

Could Steve have been right?
Could Stark—Tony—truly have a soft spot for him?

But no. No matter how gentle the gaze was now, it didn’t erase the past. It didn’t undo what had been done. It didn’t silence the nights of hurt or the echo of bruised pride and broken dignity.

Still… a part of Stephen was curious. Curious enough to wonder what this new Tony could mean. What this shift in his presence might lead to. Not out of longing. Not out of some foolish hope. But for clarity. For control.

Maybe even closure.

He didn’t know what he would find. But he was ready to find out.

He was playing with fire now.
But this time, he knew where the flames were coming from.

And maybe he could hold the heat without getting burned.