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Tony Stark hates Stephen Strange.
Truly, he does.
He hates that Stephen sacrificed half the world for him.
Every time Tony closes his eyes he still sees him.
The way he stood there on Titan, cloak torn, bleeding, shaking, and still managed to smile at Tony like he was saying, It's alright, Tony. I planned for this. I planned for you.
He hates Stephen for every time he bled for him.
Stephen's always smiling at him. Always has something good to say about Tony, despite all the snark they give eachother.
Tony hates that smile the most.
That quiet one.
The soft one.
The one Stephen gives him when he thinks Tony’s too distracted to notice.
It’s not the smug grin, or the sarcastic curl of his mouth, or the exasperated “you’re unbelievable” twitch he gets whenever Tony pokes at him just to see him react.
No, this one’s worse.
Dangerous.
This one says "I've seen who you are, and I still want to be here. I still want you."
He hates the way Stephen talks about him, too—like Tony’s some incredible force of nature instead of a walking catastrophe held together with caffeine and unresolved trauma.
He’ll say things like, “Stark’s brilliant,” or “Stark’s capable,” even “Tony's my friend,” with this maddening sincerity that makes Tony want to crawl out of his own skin.
He hates how genuine it is.
How warm.
How much it hurts to hear it.
Tony’s lived his whole life surrounded by people who want him for two things. What he can give them, or what they can take from him.
Stephen doesn't take, he just gives.
Gives Tony the benefit of the doubt. Gives Tony time.
Maybe it's more accurate to say that Tony hates the fact Stephen makes him think he's wanted. Makes him think deserves it.
Deserves kindness, care, love.
He doesn't.
He knows he doesn't.
Tony Stark loves Steve Rogers.
Loves him in every way you shouldn’t love someone who could never love you back the same.
Even despite all the lies, despite all the betrayal.
He loves that Steve never belives him.
Tony could say “I’ve got a plan,” “I can fix this,” “you can trust me,” and Steve would still watch him like he was waiting for the lie beneath the truth.
And Tony—idiot that he was—kept trying anyway. Kept talking, kept explaining, kept hoping that this time Steve would hear him.
This time he wouldn’t be too much or not enough.
Tony loves that he never lets Tony win an argument. Never gives Tony his way.
They worked together for 4 years, and Tony doesn't think they went a single day without arguing over something.
Steve pushed back. Stood firm. Drew lines. Drew boundaries. Looked at Tony and refused to let him skate by on talent or charm or desperation.
Steve made Tony work for every inch of understanding between them. Every moment of trust. Every time they managed—briefly, painfully—to stand on the same side of a battlefield in more ways than just literal.
There were days that Tony wondered if that was why he loved Steve.
Steve challenged him.
Steve inspired him.
Steve never truly believed in him.
Steve hurt him.
And Tony knows he shouldn't want that.
But he can't help it.