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Stephen Strange knew how to live with scars. The hands marked by cuts, the failed nerves, the bones that no longer responded as they used to — none of these bothered him as much as the gray mark on the left side of his chest.
It wasn't ugly, but it was a constant reminder. A curve that resembled the tip of a gear, thin lines that intertwined like metallic threads. Always there, motionless, colorless, lifeless.
In the eyes of many, a promise. To his, a burden. The Sorcerer Supreme had no time for soulmate fantasies. He carried the Multiverse on his shoulders. “If my mark is never completed”, he told himself, “at least I will have done what I should”.
On the other side of the world — or rather, above it, aboard a gleaming tower in New York — Tony Stark had his own brand. He never showed it to anyone, of course. It's on his right forearm, in a place that's impossible to hide when he's wearing a t-shirt.
A sharp, curved line that looked almost like the outline of a spell, or a rune, but that Tony always described as a “weird birthmark” when someone asked.
He pretended not to care. He joked in interviews, saying that “if my soulmate exists, he probably got tired of me before he even met me”. But, alone in the lab, every now and then he would run his thumb over the gray mark and ask himself: Who the hell are you?
______________
The New York sky was bursting with light, the air smelled of burnt metal and condensed magic. Stephen Strange advanced across the field, his hands emitting sparks of mystical energy that drove back the dimensional creature in front. Wong, standing firmly at his side, conjured light barriers to protect the civilians still moving around the secure perimeter.
Stephen moved his hands in firm circles, the cloak fluttering with a life of its own. Wong maintained a magical shield of containment, but the creature emerging from the portal did not seem willing to comply. It was made of liquid shadows and red lights.
— Strange! Focus on the core!— shouted Wong. —She's approaching too fast!
—“I’m trying!”— Stephen replied, his voice cutting through the roar. Golden runes danced on his fingertips.
Stephen frowned and cast a spell that created a wave of energy capable of pushing the creature back a few meters. The monster roared, and the earth shook beneath its feet.
A blue beam shot through the air—not magic, but pure energy. The impact made the creature recoil, letting out a formless scream.
A shimmering silhouette appeared in the sky: a man flying in red and gold armor, leaving trails of fire and light.
—“It’s not every day I see a real spell off the Las Vegas stage!”
The voice was unmistakable, even amidst the destruction.
Stephen looked up—and there was Tony Stark, floating in shining armor, lights vibrating in his chest like a synthetic heart.
Tony hovered a few feet above, surveying the scene with that signature smile. —“Doctor Strange, right? Living cape, glowing portals… you guys really have a great visual effects department.”
Wong mumbled something in Tibetan.
Stephen ignored
Stephen just raised an eyebrow. He knew the billionaire's reputation: egocentric, charismatic, unpredictable. I had already seen him at cocktail parties, at awards shows, even in debates about technology. But they had never really talked.
— “If you came to make fun, Stark, choose another battlefield.” — His voice was cold, sharp as glass. —This is not a playground for armor testing.
— Relax, Strange. — Tony did a pirouette in the air, keeping his distance. — I've dealt with some similar things. But if you want, I can stay out and just applaud from afar.”— He fired another bolt of lightning, hitting the creature's side. The beam ricocheted, scattering sparks
Stephen sighed. Wong beside him just rolled his eyes. The creature roared again, angrier. Stephen cast another spell.
—“Strange,”— Wong muttered, “I think he'll want to get involved, whether you want him to or not.
Stephen just nodded, maintaining his concentration.
When the portal finally began to close, the air became thick. The creature roared one last time before being sucked inside. Silence fell abruptly.
Tony landed on the ground, his helmet opening with a metallic click. Sweat glistened on his forehead, and the smile—that annoying smile—was still there.
—“So… always like this on your Tuesdays, doc?”
Stephen just looked. —“Tuesday is when the cracks prefer to open,” replied the wizard, dryly. —“Monday is dealing with meddling billionaires.”
Tony let out a short laugh. —“Touché.”
______________
—“Wow, Merlin, is this where you live?”
Tony whistled softly as he took a few steps through the Sanctum Sanctorum lobby. Each stained glass window reflected the golden light of the evening. Relics floated on shelves, candles lit on their own.
Uninvited—of course—he followed Stephen to the center of the room.
Wong just looked at him with the expression of someone who anticipated a headache and left, muttering something like “may the Elders be patient.”
—“Why are you even here?” asked Stephen, crossing his arms. The arched eyebrow carried a level of judgment.
Tony twirled one of his hands, nonchalantly.—"Scientific curiosity. You opened a dimensional portal right in the middle of Fifth Avenue. I thought I should make sure it wasn't a new type of bomb."
—"Ah, of course. And entering my sanctuary without permission is part of Stark Industries security protocol?"
Tony gave a slanted smile. —“Call it an impromptu audit.”
Stephen sighed, the Cloak reacting as if it too was irritated. —“You should leave before she decides to throw you out the window.”
The Cloak actually moved—just enough for Tony to take half a step back. —“Okay, cover with personality.”
Stephen walked to a table covered in books. —"You helped out there, I recognize that. But this place is not a laboratory."
—“Could be,”— said Tony, approaching a floating artifact. “With some design improvements, quantum sensors and—”
—“Don’t touch it!”
Stephen's voice sounded firm, cutting through the air. Tony froze, his hand mere inches from the artifact that was now pulsing red light.
He walked away slowly. —“Okay, noted. Magic with self-destruct button.”
—“It’s not magic,”— Strange corrected, without looking up. —“It’s balance. Something technology tends to ignore.”
Tony gave a half smile. —“Ah, so you’ve already studied me.”
The look Stephen gave him was almost a spell in itself. —“It’s hard not to know the man who put armor around the world and almost destroyed it in the process.”
The comment hit deeper than the wizard imagined. Tony's smile faltered for a moment—just a moment—before he composed himself.
—"It's hard not to know the surgeon who stopped fixing bodies to play with realities. I think we're tied."
The silence between them became thick, electric. Something in the air seemed to vibrate—as if Sanctum itself was curious about this unlikely encounter.
Stephen looked away, returning to the old pages. —“If you’re done playing tourist, the exit is the same way you entered.”
Tony was quiet for a few seconds, then shrugged. —“Okay, doc. But I warn you: I always come back when something intrigues me.”— He left.
When the door closed, Strange realized - against his own will - that he had been looking at where Stark had been for too long.
_______________
A few weeks had passed since their first meeting.
Since then, Stephen and Tony have seen each other more times than either would admit to enjoying. Always because of something terrible—a creature, a rift, a dimensional imbalance. Always working side by side, even in between provocations.
This time, the battle took place on the outskirts of a small coastal town. The sky was covered in heavy clouds, and the air smelled of burnt ozone. A translucent creature, something between liquid metal and living shadow, writhed against Stephen's spells and Tony's repulsor rays.
—“Didn’t you say that this portal was already closed?!”— shouted Tony, dodging an attack.
—“I told you it was almost closed!”— Stephen replied, the runes lighting up in his hands.
—“Define ‘almost’!”
—“Define ‘help’!”
Tony's response came in the form of an explosion. The beam from the chest reactor passed through the creature, and Strange's golden circle sealed the rift seconds later. The energy field fell apart, and silence fell.
The Sorcerer Supreme sighed, lowering his hands.
The cloak floated around him, watching as if judging the mess.
Tony landed a few feet away, staggering slightly as the helmet retracted. The sweaty face, the deep circles under his eyes, and the glow in the reactor flickering—signs of a man who hadn't slept in days.
—“Well…” —Tony breathed hard. —“Another normal Tuesday, right, doc?”
Stephen turned around, about to say something ironic, but what he saw made him stop. Tony's gaze was cloudy, and his knees began to give way.
—“Stark?”
The billionaire tried to laugh. —“I think… I forgot to eat lunch. Again.”
And it collapsed.
Instinctively, Stephen moved, his body reacting before his mind. He grabbed him by the shoulders, the metallic weight of the partially deactivated armor giving way on him.
When Strange's hand touched the bare skin of Tony's neck—the exact spot where the suit had retracted—something happened...
Light...
Not an ordinary light, but a warm, deep glow that ran across their skin.
The gray mark on Stephen's chest burned, and the gear outline gained color—metallic tones, red and gold, as vivid as Iron Man himself.
At the same time, beneath Tony's right arm, the ancient, forgotten mark began to glow blue and gold, like mystical runes pulsing in sync with his heart.
The air seemed to vibrate. For a second, time didn't exist.
Tony, half unconscious, muttered something with a tired smile. —“I knew I would end up falling into your arms one day, doc…”
—"you talk too much"— said Stephen rolling his eyes
The phrase was immediately engraved on Stephen's skin, around the now colored mark, like living ink.
He froze, feeling his heart racing in a way no magic could explain.
—“It can’t be…”— he murmured.
His mark—and Stark's—shined at the same pace.
Stephen held Tony steady, between confusion and daze.
The connection was real. The fate he always denied — inevitable.
And the unconscious man in her arms… was her soulmate.
____________
Tony woke up with a slight pain in his head and a strange feeling in his arm — like something was burning and tingling at the same time.
He blinked a few times until he realized where he was.
The ceiling was not metal, but dark wood, carved with ancient symbols. There was the smell of incense and parchment. The light came softly, filtered through colored stained glass.
—“Ah,”— he murmured, his voice hoarse. —“Either I died and went to the monastery, or I’m at Harry Potter’s Airbnb.”
—“Neither one nor the other,”— came the calm reply.
Stephen was standing a few steps away, watching him with the neutral expression of someone who would like to be anywhere else in the universe.
The Cloak, lying at the side, seemed equally judgmental.
Tony stood up slowly, supporting himself on his elbows. —"Doctor Strange, huh? Don't tell me you kidnapped me. If this is an exorcism ritual, I'll charge a lot per hour."
Stephen sighed, humorless. —"You fainted. I thought it would be best to bring you to Sanctum until you recover."
—“So... my savior, huh?” —Tony smiled, but the sound of his own voice sounded strange to his ears.
That's when he realized.
The skin on his right arm—where the mark he had always ignored had been—now glowed softly blue and gold. The once gray lines pulsed, alive, and, right in the center, were newly engraved words.
“you talk too much.”
Tony's heart almost stopped.
He rubbed his eyes, laughed nervously, then looked at Stephen.
—“Okay… so… I hit my head too hard.”
Stephen didn't respond. He just remained still, staring — and, if Tony noticed correctly, the wizard was tense.
—"Doc," —Tony continued, trying to sound light, —"don't take me wrong, but this is the kind of thing we should talk about. Like... you've got a brand shining too, right?"
Silence was answer enough.
Stephen looked away.
At the corner of her collarbone, beneath the dark fabric of her tunic, the golden glow still pulsed—a living gear intertwined with metallic threads. And beneath it, the words:
“I knew I would end up falling into your arms one day, doc.”
He felt heat rising to his neck, but he controlled his breathing. —“That doesn’t mean anything,”— he said at last.
Tony raised his eyebrows. —“Really? Because where I come from, two brands shining at the same moment mean something. Like… destiny, soulmate, that bad movie stuff.”
—“No,”— Stephen replied, firmly, crossing his arms. —“It means distraction. And distractions are expensive.”
His voice was cold, but the tremor in his hands betrayed something more.
Tony watched him in silence for a moment. The genius, the man who always had an answer for everything, now seemed… lost. Vulnerable.
Then he forced a half smile. —"Right. No panic. You're the Sorcerer Supreme, I'm Iron Man. Two soulmates with a history of trauma and inflated egos. What could go wrong, right?"
Stephen turned, walking to the window. -"All."
Tony let out a humorless laugh, lay down again and looked at the ceiling.
—“The problem with being the genius of history,” he murmured, “is that we never know if fate is playing with us… or if it’s just the irony of the universe.”
Across the room, Stephen remained silent.
But for a second, the mark on his chest pulsed again — hot, alive — as if it disagreed with what he was saying.
________________
Time passed, but the discomfort did not.
After the incident at Sanctum, Stephen tried to go about his routine as if nothing had changed — as if the colored mark on his chest didn't pulse every time Tony Stark entered within a few miles.
But magic doesn't lie.
Nor destiny.
The connection became more intense with each mission.
Whenever they faced something dangerous—demons, portals, dimensional monsters—the brand's heat grew, radiating as if an invisible fire ran beneath their skin.
And when they were away for too long, the same heat returned… only cold. An uncomfortable void, as if the universe remembered: you were not meant to be apart.
Stephen tried to rationalize. —“It’s just a reaction,”— he said to himself, But the words sounded less and less convincing.
Tony, on the other hand, did his best to laugh at the situation—at first.
He called the phenomenon “Soul Wi-Fi” and said they could patent the link as a remote communication technology.
But every time the blue-golden glow of the mark appeared in the middle of a battle, he felt his heart race.
It wasn't fear of the enemy.
It was fear of losing him.
______________
One particularly quiet night, Tony was in the lab, dismantling part of the armor. The artificial lights reflected off his arm — and there was the mark, alive, radiating light pulses of light.
Stephen appeared through a portal behind him, unobtrusive, his cloak hovering like shadow. —“You should rest.”
Tony laughed, without turning around. —“And miss the chance to see you break into my lab in the middle of the night? No way.”
—“I’m here because I felt…” — Stephen hesitated, something rare in him — “I felt something was wrong.”
Tony looked at his own arm, the glow synchronized with what he saw reflected in Strange's chest. —"Yeah, I think we're officially on emotional GPS. Congratulations, doc. We're connected 24 hours a day."
Stephen sighed. —“It’s not a joke, Stark.”
—“I didn’t say it was.”
Silence hovered.
Tony set one of the armor pieces aside, finally turning to him. —"You know, I've tried to make sense of it. The brand, the heat, the glow... and honestly, all I can think is that the universe must be screwing us."
Stephen watched him for a few seconds. —“You think destiny is a joke.”
—“I think destiny is just a fancy word for ‘I had no choice’.”
The raw sincerity in Tony's voice broke something inside him.
Stephen moved closer than he intended. The energy between them wavered—the marks glowed in sync.
—“You’re afraid,”— said Stephen, quietly. —“Of not being enough.”
Tony laughed, but the sound sounded sad. —“Everyone is afraid of something. Mine is just...”
—“What about you?”— Tony asked back, taking a step forward. —“What are you afraid of, doctor?”
Stephen looked away. —“Of losing control.”
—“News: you already lost.”
The sentence remained in the air, dense, true.
For a moment, the world seemed to stop.
The glow of the marks coalesced into a single pulse—warm, constant, comforting.
They didn't say anything else.
____________
The days passed, but the connection between them seemed to grow silently, like an invisible thread stretched between two worlds.
Stephen never had to call him.
Tony just knew.
On nights when the pain came back with a vengeance—the old scars on his hands burning, his entire body exhausted after using magic to the limit.
And there he was.
Tony Stark, without armor, sometimes with deep circles under his eyes and a cup of coffee in his hand, walking in as if this were the most natural place in the world to be.
—“You must have been sleeping,”— Stephen murmured, trying to keep his tone neutral.
—“And you should be resting,”— Tony replied, sitting next to him. —“But since none of us follow advice…”
The conversation never needed to last long.
Sometimes Tony would just sit there, talking about circuits and new ideas, while Stephen listened silently, the sound of his voice filling the space.
The mark on the wizard's chest glowed in soft tones, the heat easing the pain.
And the times when it was Tony who collapsed from exhaustion—sleepless nights, empty stomach, eyes lost in the cold glow of the lab—the same phenomenon happened.
A golden circle opened.
And Stephen appeared, silent, but with a look that said more than anything.
—“You haven't eaten anything since yesterday,”— said the wizard, observing the mess of tools and papers.
Tony looked up, tired. —“I’m not hungry.”
Stephen just held out his hand. -"liar."
And before he could protest, a bowl of soup — made by Wong, of course — floated to the table.
—“Are you going to stay here just to watch me eat?”
—“Until I'm sure you won't pass out again.”
Tony smiled, half embarrassed, half… grateful. —“You’re terrible at pretending you don’t care, you know?”
Stephen looked away, but he didn't go away.
______________
The bond between them is no longer a magical coincidence.
It became an instinct.
A reflection.
Sometimes Stephen would wake up in the middle of the night and know that Tony was having a nightmare—and without hesitation, he would open a portal to the lab.
Other times, Tony would interrupt entire meetings because he felt his chest burning, and within seconds he would be in Sanctum, finding Stephen kneeling on the floor, drained of magic.
____________
The Sanctum was silent that morning.
Sunlight streamed through the stained glass windows, painting the floor with colorful reflections. Stephen was sitting on the large sofa in the library, a book open in his hands, trying to concentrate on his notes about dimensional flows.
Trying.
The truth was that every few lines he read, his mind betrayed him, diverting to another kind of energy—one more mundane, more irritatingly human.
The soft metallic sound coming from the hallway announced what he already knew.
Tony Stark was there.
Since the connection between them had become impossible to ignore, Tony would simply show up at Sanctum as if he had the key. Sometimes he brought coffee, sometimes a bad joke.
Stephen sighed, closing the book slowly, but without looking up.
—“You should warn me before entering,”— he murmured.
—“And lose the element of surprise?”— replied Tony, leaning against the door frame with his usual smile. —“Besides, the cape let me through, so I think she likes me more than you.”
Before Stephen could respond, the main door slammed open. Wong entered, holding a stack of parchment—and with an expression that mixed exhaustion and deep exasperation.
—“Ah, for the love of Vishanti,” —he grumbled, throwing the parchments on the table. —“Kiss him soon, Strange.”
The Supreme wizard froze.
The book slipped from his hands and fell with a heavy thump.
—“Wong!!”— he exclaimed, his face immediately blushing.— “That’s… completely inappropriate!”
Tony blinked, amused. —“For the record, I’m not against the idea.”
—“You—” Stephen pointed at him, his voice breaking between indignation and pure shame. —“You’re not helping!”
—“I’m not even trying.”
Wong just threw up his hands in exasperation. "You two have been going back and forth for months! Your brand shines brighter than the Christmas lights in Times Square. Half of Sanctum's spells have already adjusted to accommodate the emotional field between you!"
Stephen opened his mouth to retort, but nothing came out.
Tony, on the other hand, crossed his arms, holding back his laughter. —“So even the magic building is tired of waiting?”
Wong sighed, already leaving the room. —"I'm going to the library. If you finally decide to admit the obvious, try not to destroy anything, okay?"
The silence that followed was almost palpable.
Tony stepped forward. —“So… he’s not exactly wrong.”
Stephen looked away, trying to regain his composure. —“Wong is… inconveniently observant.”
—“Or just sincere.”— Tony approached closer, slowly. —“Look, doc… we can keep pretending. Or we can accept that maybe—”
Stephen looked up.
And before Tony finished his sentence, the wizard grabbed him by the collar of his jacket and kissed him.
The touch was quick, almost hesitant—but the energy that coursed through the air was anything but subtle.
The markings on both glowed in unison, gold and blue merging into a new, vivid color, as if fate itself had given a satisfied sigh.
When they separated, Tony was still smiling—a small, sincere smile.
—“I knew I would end up falling into your arms one day, doc”— he murmured, repeating the phrase that brought them together.
Stephen rolled his eyes, trying to hide his laughter. —“And you talk too much.”
—“But you like it.”
—“Maybe a little.”
Upstairs, Wong let out a relieved sigh. —"Finally."