#trans stephen strange

[xenocorner]

My hand was forced (by myself)

[hungryforpowernotfood]

There Was a Book For That This Entire Time?!

Summary: The reader gets their period & asks Stephen for help, which comes with a little more than expected (sfw)

Warning(s): menstrual/period blood (I have no idea what the quality of this is, I haven't revisited it in so long)

Pairing(s): ftm!stephen strange/ftm!reader (reader can be read as ftnb, but presents & passes as male here)

You woke up earlier than usual with a damp, sticky sensation pressed against you between your legs. You felt yourself tense up at your quick realization of what it was.

You sat in bed for a moment, telling yourself to get up before you were finally able to. The bathroom was connected to your bedroom—as per request—so you didn’t need to risk being seen by anyone. Stephen had been trying to convince you to move into the Sanctum for a while, especially because you practically lived there. He had eventually been able to win you over by offering you a bedroom with your own private bathroom—it was the only luxury he could think of to offer you, the only unique feature any of the rooms had, so you took it.

He always assumed you liked your privacy—you didn’t always study with other people, and you didn’t like meditating around other people at first. He understood the inclination towards independence, so he never questioned you.

You avoided looking in the mirror—you didn’t want to ask to have it taken out because you didn’t want to explain, and you were still learning magic. As soon as you learned a spell for it though, you would have it removed.

You changed in the bathroom after cleaning yourself up, then you did your best to wash the blood out of your clothes. You ran cold water over them, trying to wring out the blood, before eventually just putting them in to soak.

Once you finished, you left, in search of Stephen, or anyone else you could find who could help you get blood out of fabric…and potentially the mattress you may have left a stain on, though you didn’t check.

By now, the stain on your sheet was dry so you would most likely have to resort to magic.

You found Stephen in the library fairly quickly—you were sure he didn’t sleep every night, instead spending some in the library.

“Stephen?” You asked, leaning against one of the shelves.

He only hummed in response, not looking up from his book.

“Are there any spells that can clean blood?”

He looked up and gave you a suspicious look. “Why?”

“I had a nosebleed,” you lied, “I just wanted to clean it up.”

“I can clean it.” He stated, closing the book with one hand. He got up and started walking towards you, you blocked him before he could create a portal, or do anything else.

“Don’t you think I should learn? I get them often, and I’d like to know how to clean them up myself.”

“They can be tricky, but I can show you.” He moved you aside gently with an arm and drew it into a circle—forming a portal and stepping through it before you could object.

“Stephen, it's fine, I don’t need to learn it now.” You objected, but it was too late. He had paused in front of your bed, and you knew he had seen it.

Your heart pounded in your chest and in your ears.

He turned back to face you and gestured for you to step through the portal. Once you did so, he turned back to the bed and cast a spell that cleaned the blood off the bed—letting the portal fall behind you. When he was done, he conjured another portal—a smaller one this time—stuck his hand in, and pulled a book out.

He turned and handed you the book. There were a few sticky notes sticking out of the pages, and the cover looked worn and tattered.

You slowly took the book into your hands, as if you were holding an injured animal—you held all the older books that way.

“The spells for getting menstrual blood and other blood out are different because of the consistency,” He explained, “some of the spells can be a bit tricky. But if you want any help, you know where to find me.”

Stephen winked, and turned, preparing to cast another spell for a portal, when you grabbed his arm, preventing the motion.

“Wait…you’re—”

Stephen nodded. “The Ancient One gave me this book when I first came here. But I know all the spells I need from it, so now you can have it.”

You looked up at him for a moment. “Are you sure?”

“Of course. I’ve memorized everything I need from it.”

You nod.

“Oh, and y/n.”

“Hmm?"

He turns to fully face you. “I understand why you didn’t tell me this…but you can come to me with anything, okay?”

“Okay.”

He smiles at you, before drawing an arm in a circle, a portal being created with it, and exiting your room, leaving you alone with the book.

[popcorn-plots]

anyone have any tips for this massive fucking cramp that's going on around 4 hours now?

On the verge of painkillers.. I want to pull out the pads but they're uncomfy and useless against the first day flow.

And while we're here... Any trans Stephen fic recs? Just any at all, I need my comfort character :(

[stark-strange-love2]

Happy pride! 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️

A tattoo of lost love on a chest full of scars

[mothirl]

love transgender stephen strange and transgender tony stark and their transgender son

[strangesickness]

trans richie read "dress for the job you want, not the job you have" and figured naming himself dick followed the same principles

[ace-of-gay]

Hey hope your doing well I was wondering if I could maybe request a fluff fic with Stephen and male reader where the reader accidentally gets stuck and locked somewhere like the basement or attic and he tries to get in touch with Stephen cause he doesn’t know what to do and starts to have a bit of a panic attack and when Stephen gets home he tries to look for reader and contacts him and realises he’s stuck he helps him out and sees him having the panic attack and tries to call him down

Stuck

Stephen strange x male reader

Word count: 1,376 words

Warnings: house cleaning, panic attack in decent explanation, dark rooms, being locked in a dark room

Edited to the best of my ability

Reader is male whether it be cis or trans its not specified, no weight, ethnicity or hair type mentioned, reader is at least somewhat abled enough to go around and do house work.

It started by wanting to declutter your space, so many old supplies no longer in use but still worth keeping for a later time when the interest returns, and some clothes that are only pulled out for winter, thicker blankets needing to be put away as well.

Setting the day into motion you got up extra early, having thought about your plan all night you had laid still in bed as long as you could until you no longer could, making coffee for your husband and your personal preference of a wake up drink to spike your energy.

As Stephen walked into the room a smile cast upon your face.

He’s already dressed for the meeting this morning at the tower, he’s insistent on driving instead of using ‘sparkles’ as you tease him, you had spent ten minutes in bed telling about your plans for the day, asking him to help you unlock the storage room door because its heavy and finicky at times.

You hand him his coffee in a reusable to go cup and kiss him goodbye “you have a good day handsome, I’m just a call away” he remarks on his way out.

Putting your headphones on and turning on your upbeat playlist for a but more motivation you got to work, going through the many rooms, folding up clothes you want to put into storage and clothes you want to donate, changing the bedding, taking the thicker duvets and blankets off of the bed and putting them in vacuum bags, taking all of the storage stuff into the room placing it on the selected shelf and going through the others already in the room finding what of the selection you wanted to bring out into the cycle of new to lighten the season.

Picking up your favorites you take them out of the room going to wash the new choice of blankets fit for the season and temperature, a small change to your room to keep it interesting for your mind, always something small or big changing enough for you to not get bored of your spaces.

After the first blanket has gone through the wash on a simple spin and rinse cycle you follow it with a few others for separate rooms.

Taking this time to shoot a text over to Stephen that there were some things you’d like to take to the goodwill in the next city.

Eating a small quick lunch, finishing up on the wash and dry cycles of the blankets and bedding you continue on to your shared room, making the bed just how you both like it, following that with the spare bedroom with some reorganization when the bed is made, tossing a couple new throw blankets onto the couch, but still you had much more need to move and do stuff in you.

Heading back to the storage room you pull out the box lighter clothes from a shelf and take them to your room, unpacking them into your dresser, your phone dings letting you know its battery was in need of being on the charger so you stand up crossing the room and putting your phone on the charger.

Looking around at everything you decide there’s just a little more needed to make everything feel done so you collapse down the box and take it back to the room and look around for that little something that would add a perfect finishing touch.

For the last time today you flick on the light and this time nothing happens, in response you flick it up and down a few more times when you decide to just use the scattered light from the hallway to see the best you can.

The glint of something on the shelf on the far wall on the top shelf you reflexively grab the step ladder completely forgetting that its what was holding the heavy door open so when you open the step ladder while standing at the far corner of the room and you see the cast of limited light that spilt into the room now grow smaller until the heavy door slammed shut with a smack of a click to the lock, you’ve just gotten yourself locked in the room.

You feel out your way to the door, using your hands to look for a lock latch to unlock the door pulling as hard as you could when you couldn’t find a latch.

Taking deep breaths of stuffy air trying calm the fizz of anxiety that lit a suffocating fire deep in the pits of your stomach, like acid reflux its trying to make its way up your throat in shivering and choked panicky gasps.

“Just gotta find the window” you tell yourself.

You’ve never actually taken time to admire the layout of the room, had you ever done so you would have realized it’s the equivalent of a basement, while it doesn't have bare concrete walls it doesn’t have windows, just vents in the ceiling.

Feeling the walls each one as high and as low as you could making your way through the dark capsule of a room, when you make it all the way around the room and find yourself at the door once more but this time with the realization that this room is a cell of stuff that holds temporary time outside of it, hoping to yourself that your husband would soon come home and find you missing and find you.

You not at all sure how long you’ve been in here for but its long enough for your voice to be crackly and broken up by desperate panicked sobs, whether its deemed masculine or not you don’t care whatsoever, anxiety doesn’t follow gender norms especially when it decides to eat your rationality and instead leaves you feeling like your spiraling and going crazy, your phone in an entirely different room you have no idea how long it’ll be until you get out, its given your mind plenty of silent time to hear your thoughts chime in that, that ‘silly’ fear of the dark never went away, it just became more rational, if you could hear your thoughts outside of your head they would be the smallest whisper so far away but the echo off of the cold concrete floor while your tears fell from tour cheeks to the ground and sniffled sobs sang around the silent room, it was you and only you, drowning in every sound of yourself in desperation.

Your not shivering cold but instead trembling terrified, that is until you heard a sound of the door being played with and the light from the hallway finally leak inside, “dear? Are you in here?” He sees the light blanket you, in a flash you’re up and hugging him tight, he leads you out of the room, the light overwhelming your eyes he leads you to the kitchen where you sit in a chair eyes shut lightly to adjust to the light, silent scratchy cries fall from you, from how overwhelmed it had you the fire that started in your stomach earlier grew and made it’s way through your entire burning, your sanity feels like it’s the shambled ashes of a burnt down house.

He sits with you easing you to drink some water for both your throat and dehydration due to crying, you finally get to a place where the occasional hiccup interrupts your explanation of what happened.

He held you the entire time you explain everything, rubbing your back, occasionally reminding you that you’re okay now with a complementary kiss to your temple soothing you back the rest of the way from the roaring fire of sickening anxiety, the fire is merely a dying spark in a dark room , you’re okay now.

“I tried calling you to see if you wanted me to bring anything back and you never ignore my messages so I got worried and im glad I had done so because im here for you now my love, im so sorry I wasn’t here when it happened”

Talking it over you both decide to order in dinner tonight and stay in and cuddle, in each others arms, watching comforting movies and falling asleep in one another’s arms

My mom bought me a book to read and i told myself i couldn't read anymore than the first three chapters until i finish this fic

[just-a-strange-boy]

slow mornings

Waking up to Stephen might be nothing new to you at this point of your relationship, but you make sure to cherish the moment all the same.

Pairing: Stephen Strange x ftm!Reader

Warnings: 18+ (Minors DNI), unprotected penetrative sex - that's it for this one, it's honestly just unfiltered fluff and sweetness

A/N: listen, I wrote this for Kinktober last year and I'm well aware that this is absolutely not kinky, but my prompt was morning sex, so that's what you're going to get

You simply loved slow mornings with Stephen.

There was something so easy and carefree about it, especially on days like these, when neither of you had to get up early nor felt the need to get the actual morning started, content with just existing and taking the day as it would come.

You had slipped in and out of your slumber, awakened by the first few rays of sunshine seeping through the window, the noises of busy New York streets outside, Stephen gently stirring beside you. Eventually you had just rolled over, abandoning your own bedside, and snuggled up to Stephen's warm form next to you.

While he was seemingly also drifting in and out of sleep, barely conscious, he was welcoming your familiar presence with a low hum from his throat and pulled you into his embrace immediately.

Warm and secure, you were comfortable enough to sink back into sleep.

As the sun finally made its way over to your bed, the bright and warm rays tickling the two of you awake, you discovered yourself pressed tightly to Stephen, your forehead resting against his chest, the familiar warmth and smell surrounding you. You snuggled closer, feeling the arm draped over you shift, Stephen's hand on the broad of your back, his fingers beginning to lazily travel across your skin.

Feeling his touch was thoroughly enjoyable, as it always was, and you hummed softly at the affectionate gesture, planting a few small kisses to your partner's chest in return.

"Mmh, this is nice", Stephen grumbled in response, his hand skirting up your spine, eventually reaching your nape, gently stroking over the back of your head, "Should do this more often."

"Yeah, we should", you mused, voice a little hoarse from sleep, and only slightly drew back, crooking your neck to look up at him, "But every time I do want to cuddle, you usually just fall asleep, old man."

Stephen looked so handsome – not exactly new facts – partly illuminated by the sun right now, seeming at ease and like he had had a good night's rest, his face a little rumpled from sleep, hair all messy, eyes tired though shining the same mesmerizing blue as they always did.

"Okay, meanie", the sorcerer spoke, a slight smile appearing on his lips, "I love waking up to you. Always a pleasure to have you in my bed too.” Stephen yawned then, scrunching his nose right afterwards in a way you thought was simply adorable. “Wish we could spend all day like this, just the two of us, in bed."

"Agreed", you shuffled upwards, not wanting to escape from Stephen's hold, but to bring you almost face to face, "Though Cloak will probably kick us out of bed sooner or later."

"It better not try", Stephen mumbled, trying to repress another yawn and failing miserably, sleep-ridden eyes drifting over your face as he began toying with your hair, carding his fingers through the strands you had decided to grow out again. "I'm really liking this look on you", he added.

“Care to elaborate why, Doctor Strange?", you requested.

While Stephen was never shy of complimenting you, he usually refrained from being too focused on outward appearance or having preferences about it.

The way you wore your hair had never been an issue or something he had seemed to be focused on in the past, whether it reached your shoulders like it did now or was cut significantly shorter, but that didn't mean he didn't care for it. He loved brushing through it, toying with it, fingers gently rubbing circles into your scalp – and of course, grabbing a fistful to tug on them when things got heated in the bedroom.

"Can't put my finger on it", Stephen murmured, "Just looks nice. Not that you don't always do."

"Flattery will get you anywhere, you charmer", you mused and leaned in to steal a quick kiss from him, sneaking your own arm around his mid, absentmindedly beginning to caress Stephen's lower back, your hand occasionally landing a little beneath the waistline, cupping a feel as you went to squeeze his firm ass, not that he seemed to mind.

"I hope it will", was all he said to that, accepting your cheekiness without protest.

He shifted, wedging one leg between yours, resting it there for a moment, simply slotted together. His fingertips continued to gently play with your hair, but there was a change of expression you didn't fail to notice. A mischievous glint in his eyes, a knowing smirk on his lips.

You should have been expecting something, knowing that he would not let you have fun all by yourself, but it still caught you off-guard when he hitched his thigh further up between yours, lightly pressing it against your crotch. Such a small movement, seeming so innocent, and yet it sent a pang of pleasure right through you.

"Seems like someone is in the mood", you chuckled after overcoming the initial surprise, definitely being in the mood yourself, enjoying the littlest bit of the friction he allowed you, his strong thigh against your core. He was obviously doing so with slight amusement, pleased with the responses he earned from you.

Because oh boy, did you react. There was no way in heaven you would have been able to resist him when he was tempting you like this.

You leaned in to kiss Stephen again, slow and lazy and sloppy, dragging your mouth over his, your tongue dancing along the seam of his lips, before finding Stephen's.

There was no need for passion, the tender strokes of your tongues circling each other as you deepened the kiss all you could focus on. Enough to infatuate you completely.

You shifted your hips forward, needing to be even closer to him, unable to avoid grinding into his thigh, interested in what he was suggesting, curious as to what he was planning. Keeping your hand on Stephen's ass, you urged him to press further into you too, wanting him as close as humanely possible, your bodies melting into one with legs entangled.

It was perfect the way it was, a morning like this, and you would have been more than fine with this by itself, warm and safe in Stephen's embrace, hands trailing each others bodies, holding each other so close and soft kisses being shared between you.

But with the connection of your hips, the way you were craving to seek out more friction, every little shift of Stephen against you sending another wave of pleasure to your groin, you began wanting more quickly, convinced to take all that Stephen would give you this morning and hungrily devour all of his little affections.

Thanks to rarely matching schedules, causing you both to be busy at different times of day, Stephen's obligations as well as his usual exhaustion whenever he came back home, there had only been a few occasions for intimacy in the last few weeks.

With a partner like Stephen, you had learned to grasp the opportunity before it slipped away.

And since the two of you were apparently both getting horny now, who were you not to make use of that?

You were only slowly grinding against Stephen's thigh, chasing more of that sweet friction, no doubt wanting to have more of him, telling him what you desired without needing to use words.

The sorcerer understood you all too well and chuckled against your lips in return, pleased with your reaction to his advances and your growing desperation, trying to keep your mouth busy with sloppy kisses as began to gently rock against you, probably trying to make you aching for it, drawing small moans from you again and again, and reveling in them.

He knew damn well what he was doing to you.

"I love it when you're needy", Stephen grinned, his voice only a whisper against your lips, his hand on your back traveling lower and lower, until he reached your butt, squeezing lightly, keeping you close as he rolled his hips into yours another time.

“Good to know I'm not the only one", you replied, noticing Stephen's own and very evident arousal pressed against you, bringing your lips together for another kiss.

It was all tender touches and unfiltered sweetness, relishing in each others affections, hands wandering as you softly rocked against one another, arousal heightening with every move, the need for each other growing by the second.

Though there was no rush to get anywhere at all, neither of you trying to chase your own pleasure. You simply stayed focused on the other, every kiss and every touch testimony to the wonderful love you shared.

Eventually Stephen withdrew, causing you to protest with a whimper, before you understood what he was planning. He softly urged you to turn onto your back with a little nudge, making sure your head was comfortably bedded on the pillows, before he came to kneel between your legs, leaning forward, his comfortable warmth returning to your body.

While his mouth busied itself with peppering small kisses all over your neck and jaw, he began to carefully trail his hands up and down the length of your torso, stroking your sides where you just happened to be awfully ticklish, eliciting a few soft giggles (and a swat of the hand) from you.

"Stop it, Stephen Strange", you huffed in protest, though not expecting him to listen whatsoever. He would do as he pleased and you would let him. You would let him do anything.

"Never", the culprit spoke, continuing to tease you with his gentle fleeting touches and those small wandering kisses that drove you crazy. He mapped out all of you, though already more than familiar with your body, the spots and freckles all over your shoulders and chest, every scar and ridge, his beard tickling your skin as his mouth traveled along.

He always took such good care of you, paying attentions to the zones of your body that really got you going, apparently convinced to take his time with you instead of letting you mindlessly grind against each other like in heat. You wouldn't have minded that either, but for this morning the slow pace was simply perfect.

You thought it was only fair that you responded to him with equal affection, caressing whatever part you could reach of him, whether it were Stephen's strong shoulders, his upper back, the nape of his neck or even his head, brushing your fingers through the bed-ridden hair.

No way in the world you could ever get enough of this. You certainly never wanted to let go off him, didn't want him to part from you. Stay like this forever, just Stephen and you. You urged him to move upwards again and let your mouths slide together once more.

There was no denying. You needed each other.

It was a quiet understanding, a suggestion without deliberation, as Stephen broke the kiss the sit back up, taking charge of the situation as he went to fetch something from the bedside table. He used the moment to slip out of his underwear, visibly aroused from these little affections alone, and moved back to kneel between your legs, parting them further, making space for him.

Hands stroking up and down your thighs, his fingers danced along the inner sides, teasing the sensitive skin, trailing closer and closer to your core, reaching the hems of your underwear, but avoiding to touch you where you ached to be touched the most.

There was a certain look fleeting over Stephen's face as he glanced back up at the you, a quiet request, and you nodded as a sign of clear consent. Gods, you must have been smiling at the sorcerer like he was the best thing in the fucking world.

Who could blame you though? He undoubtedly was.

You felt heat rising up to your cheeks, a certain excitement rippling through you, in nothing but pure anticipation as Stephen stripped you carefully off the last piece of fabric remaining between the two of you.

Your heart fluttered too, adoring the way that Stephen still took his time with you, even after fully undressing, insistent on truly enjoying all of you, hands caressing your stomach, the curve of your hips, your thighs again.

Every single bit of love that Stephen offered to you, you simply sucked right up.

It took a lot of your self-composure to not just start begging for more, not wanting to ruin the quiet moment of anticipation, though you sure wanted and were more than ready, completely wet with arousal. And he could read you well, knowing exactly when it was time to place his hands where.

A shaky breath was escaping your lungs as the tension was close to getting fully unbearable, one of his hands finally delving to the apex of your thighs. Gently nudging you with his fingers, you tried to stop yourself from pressing upwards into his touch and failed miserably, a desperate whine passing your lips.

Using the pad of his thumb to rub over the swollen nub, drawing small circles over it, Stephen took care of this part of you as thoroughly as he had done with any other, knowing how much you loved being touched there, making you surrender completely to him. You were turning to putty under his hands, always.

You looked up at the sorcerer, who so adoringly smiled back at you, understanding your needs and wants immediately as he continued his mission to bring you pleasure, his fingers sliding to the wetness of your entrance, soon joined by the added slickness of some lube, allowing him to open you up as carefully as ever.

So painfully sweet and slow.

"Stephen, please", you only whimpered, welcoming the intrusion of his fingers, the slow strokes brushing past your walls as he was scissoring you open, working them over the spot he knew made you react all too well. Heavenly. Could have let him done this for hours. Could have come on his fingers alone. But if you were to finish, you wanted to do so with Stephen inside of you, together.

He deserved the same exact attention as you did after all.

"I need you, Stephen", you added, pressing further into the touch, urging his fingers to slide deeper into you, requesting more, "Need all of you."

“Your wish is my command", the sorcerer chuckled, pulling back his fingers, leaving you all slick and open and aching for more. He took a moment to prepare his cock with another drip of lube, before sliding back up the length of your body, capturing your lips in a kiss that was nothing but sweet and wholesome.

You used the chance and reached down between your bodies, your fingers coming to wrap around his hardness – warm, rigid, pulsing – and align him with your entrance right away. Not quite letting him push inside, you teased him as he had done with you, sliding his throbbing member up and down your wet folds in a way that made Stephen groan so adorably.

"You'll be the death of me yet", he huffed into the kiss.

"I hope not", you muttered and took him in slowly, wanting to feel every single moment, every single bit of the familiar stretch of his cock, every inch of him filling you up. Bodies flush with heat and downright shaking with want, you let Stephen take the reins then and he took them without a moment of consideration, drawing back before burying himself entirely within you another time and then again and again and again, his thrusts gentle and mindful and deep, rocking your hips together.

You slid one hand into his messy hair, pulled him into another kiss immediately, brushing your mouths together, busying your tongues, wholly content as Stephen made sure to take care of you in the best way possible, making love to you in the soft glow of the morning sun.

So you held him close, as close as you could get him, throwing your arms around the broad shoulders, legs clinging around him, locking him in your embrace, to keep him as near as possible and take him in deep every time, basking in the feeling of intimacy.

You were overcome by plenty sensations, but there were only a few thoughts crossing your mind. How good Stephen was to you. How he felt within you. How thorough he was being with you. How wonderful it was being with him. How much love he was giving you. How much you loved this man.

There was no other for you. He was the one. And you were his.

Filling you up over and over again, moving with an ease and devotion to bring pleasure to you, making you feel all warm and gooey with affection, you kept kissing him with a grin sticking to your lips that said more than words ever could have.

You shared a moan once in a while, hot breath brushing over your lips, sweet words of praise passing between the two of you then.

Something about your connection was wholly indescribable. Even though it remained unsaid, you had no doubt Stephen felt it too, the way you melted into one another, like two pieces that were meant to be slotting together, this kind of belonging, only whole with the other around.

He kept thrusting into you in the same gentle, thorough pace the entire time, muttering and mumbling and moaning, and you wouldn't have wanted it any differently today. When the pleasure became too much to remain silent, too distracting to keep kissing as moans and groans spilled between you, you ease your hold around him a little, allowing your head so sink back into the pillows.

You couldn't help but look at Stephen instead, watching him, your wonderful and loving and attentive Stephen, whose eyes were shining this bright blue and fixed on you, untamed hair falling into his forehead, his gray temples that you adored so much, the sharp lines of his face, the curve on his lips. You brought up one of your hands to his cheek, cradling his jaw.

"I love you", you sighed, words you had often spoken to him and always meant them too, words you would never grow tired of saying to Stephen, whether it was after long days of not seeing each other, during dinner or movie night, just randomly in between the day, or like now in bed, driven by lust and affection.

Because it was true. God, it was so true and real.

Stephen accepted your words with a gratuitous smile. "I love you too", he muttered, gently coming to a halt within you, staying buried deep inside of you as he bowed down to kiss you again.

Once he started moving again, your small confessions hanging in the air between you, you noticed his tender thrusts got a little more needy, a little more passionate, a little more desperate to finally chase that pleasure.

You weren't complaining at all, welcoming the change of rhythm, knowing by the way Stephen shuddered and groaned and seemed to lose himself in the embrace that he was getting close.

There was something immensely sexy about the way Stephen made passionate love to you, and you were adoring the heartfelt emotion displayed in every move, in every moan, in every sweet word. There was just nothing more pleasurable about being taken care of like this, with thoroughness, so fixed on bringing enjoyment to the other person.

It was hot to acknowledge how Stephen let go off all his restraints, letting himself fall, being himself and unashamed of feeling so strongly about you, allowing himself to lose his composure, giving into his own pleasure.

So you held him close again as his head slumped forward, face buried somewhere in the crook of your neck, warm breath and lips ghosting over your skin, spreading kisses and little love bites all over it.

You brushed a hand over the nape of his neck, letting the other one rake over his back, lightly scratching the skin, Stephen's muscles winding under your touch, an evident shudder running through his body as he began panting harder against your throat. He was tensing, close to the edge, exasperated.

"Love you so much", you whispered right into his ear, holding him even tighter as the stutter of his hips set in, his thrusts became lousy and erratic – faster, slower, shallow, deeper, steady on, holding in.

"Let go, Stephen", you continued sweetly, placing a kiss against his graying temple, before a moan slipped past your lips as he hit just the right spot within you, causing your walls to clench around him in return. He did it all over again, settling back in a steadier rhythm, eager to find the spot that made you respond to him again.

"So good, so good", you went on muttering, praising, holding him, clinging onto him, pressing yourself into the last few ardent thrusts, feeling your pleasure built to enormous heights, sensing it wouldn't take long now, for either of you.

"Come for me, Stephen, please", you whined into his ear and locked your legs tighter around him, making sure to keep him in deep, not ever wanting to let go of your wonderful Stephen.

And that was what toppled him over the edge. With the sweetest groan leaving his throat, an amalgamation of swearing and praising and sounds that didn't make sense at all, Stephen finally found his pleasure right there, right then.

Buried to the hilt within you, he spilled inside of you, driving you over the edge, your orgasms washing over the two of you, and it was just perfect.

You were utterly and completely enamored by it, by him, trembling and shuddering and panting atop of you, undeniably happy, grinning broadly, and gladly accepted that Stephen needed time to come back down from his high, murmuring and huffing against your skin, the tension leaving his body, covering you with all of his warmth. He remained right where he was, still fully inside of you.

"Fuck... fuck... you're so good to me", he whispered, a little breathless still, "Always so good, darlin'."

"You're one to talk", you huffed, gently patting his head, stroking his messy hair, "Love you lots, Dr Strange."

"Love you more", Stephen chuckled into the crook of your neck, finding the strength in himself to look back up, pressing the softest kiss to your lips, "I could stay like this all day long." It was sickeningly sweet, the way he was melting into you, proving to you how utterly obsessed and in love he was. All hard and stoic demeanor on the outside, but like this - in private, when it was just the two of you - soft and caring and so wholesome.

You beamed up at him with a smile.

"Mmh, I don't dislike the idea." You were willing to accept of your fate now, if it was going to be like this, even remaining conjoined after being fully satiated, though having Stephen inside of you the entire time would have certainly driven you crazy at some point, craving to have him again eventually, if not leaving you completely oversensitive and overstimulated.

"But if we keep staying like this, it would definitely lead to a second round and we need to be careful with your old bones", you snickered then, planting a kiss to the corner of his mouth and peppering his face with many, many more.

Stephen gave you a soft laugh that made your heartstrings flutter with affection. “Try me”, he chuckled.

To no surprise, there definitely was a second round, putting your stamina to the test. Only remaining entangled and cuddling for a moment, basking in each others and the sun's warmth now fully covering them, before Stephen decided to return to his favorite task: mapping out your body with his hands and mouth, with him ending up between your legs, eating you out until you were nothing but a quivering and whining mess, coming apart for him.

Stephen was very eager to prove his age was nowhere near becoming an issue and had given you not one but two orgasms that made your mind run blank for at least a couple of minutes.

After that, some more cuddling, your stomachs grumbling with a hunger for something other than sex and managing to make your way out of bed eventually, you even decided to wait for breakfast a little longer and had a third round in the shower.

So yeah, you definitely loved slow mornings with Stephen.

[amagicdoctor]

Not Dr. Strange trying to impress Magik and Magik having none of it 🙈

I love that she’s so hostile toward him 😭 glad a version like this exists in canon

[professional-benaddict]

Not sure if you write Trans Peter. But if you do would you mind doing a Lil something for when before he could have the surgery he still gets his period and he has so much back and hip pain. Lots of fatigue even before anything starts and Stephen and or Tony comforting him?

I woke with so much of that pain today, thankfully I work remote so my heating pad is saving me right now. x.x my hips aren't too bad today but there have been times I could barely walk. Being a lady ain't no joke.

“It’s my last period, it’s my last period, it’s my last period, it’s my last period, it’s my last p- fuuuuck!”

Peter’s been chanting since he woke up this morning. Even though he was feeling nauseous, he gave into Stephen’s wishes and ate a little breakfast along with his painkillers. But, they aren’t working like they usually do.

“You okay, baby?” Stephen asks, poking his head into the master bedroom. He heard Peter’s cries.

“No! I’m bleeding to death!” Peter wails dramatically. Stephen chuckles lightly, coming to sit by his boyfriend’s bedside. “Can you get me a heating pad?” The boy asks in a small voice and Stephen leans down to kiss his forehead.

“Of course. I can also text Tony to get some takeaway for lunch. Anything you want.”

“I want- I want whatever that has the most sugar, salt and fat.” Peter groans.

“Noted.” Stephen laughs. “But, only because this is your last period.”

[doctorstrangeaskblog]

Doctor strange said “ trans rights!”

Of course. In this house we kick transphobic ass.

[purplefeathersandblackleather]

Your hands trembled as he stepped up to the edge of the stage where you stood. His blue eyes changed to a shade of green as they locked onto you and saw how nervous you were as you glanced at him, holding out the money to him. He knelt down, getting on all fours and his body moved with the grace of a large cat as he crawled to the edge of the stage where you were. The cheers and whistles around the room were drowned out as he reached out and took your chin in his hand, guiding you to raise your head so his eyes could meet yours and take in the color.

"Look at me when you tip me, beautiful one," he whispered in a sultry voice, brushing your cheek with his thumb. "Put the money in my collar."

"O-o-okay," you mumbled, your face aflame as you reached up and tucked the money into the brown leather next to the eye shaped medallion on the front of his throat. Your eyes never left his even as he slipped something from his glove and put it behind your ear.

"Call me sometime" the stripper said, winking at you and your knees nearly gave out. "I'll show you why I'm called Doctor Strange."

_

@fanartka @sobeautifullyobsessed

Okay so, I keep seeing this #A Study In Blue and I don't know if it's from these two or someone else, but for some reason, my brain decided to tag a story to that. Basically the idea I have is that the reader broke up with their lover of years and have been reclusive. It was a hard break up but it was good for them, even though they're not taking it well. Finally, some of the Avengers are like "Okay, no more moping around. We're going out"

They take the reader to an establishment called Providence Tower which turns out to be a strip club for trans folk. It's here that the reader meets the most sought after dancer of the establishment: Eldritch Mage. Our lovely dancer also has another alias: Doctor Strange and he's only keen on sharing that with the reader in private it seems.

What do you guys think?

[popcorn-plots]

resume is finished, I just need to start applying for jobs..

but before then. I did promise I'd finish a WIP ;)

so... all y'alls....

[i-d-k-gollllddddeeebn]

Ill write comfort letter/emails from marvel characters for free!

sorry i don’t do all marvel characters.

lgbt+, neurodivergent, mental illness, poc, etc. welcome too!

I won’t write anything, thank you

Responses may be slow due to mental heath & work & stuff, but here’s the doc:

[ekat-fandom-blog]

Personal canons are the canon everyone has created based on the canon and fanon content they've consumed.

Expansion not necessary. I just wanted to add my thoughts.

1. Examples range from wanting to wrap his drinks in a web before drinking them to wanting to fall asleep curled up in the back corner of his closet. No, it doesn't matter which Spider-Man.

2. This one is just my perception of the two. There's nothing I can actually tell you about this other than the vibes seem to match.

3. The headcanon of Poison Ivy eating mostly meat is fun. (Not fully carnivore because I think she'd also eat plants because it's necessary to eat both to be a healthy human and can be healthy for the environment if done in moderation). I decided to combine it with Danny Phantom for this because I haven't seen anyone do it before. So, Ivy being mostly carnivorous and Sam being ultra-recyclo-vegetarian would be appalled at each others diets.

4. Cyborg's connected to a supercomputer created by a more scientifically advanced society, while Barbara is a human (I specified her because she's the best Bat at hacking.) Her being the best hacker in the universe is a stretch at best. There's gotta be computer languages she's unable to decipher because it's so different to any on earth. (I don't think anyone from earth should be able to hack cyborg or the mother/father boxes.) If your supercomputer can be hacked by the equivalent of a preteen with a 2010 samsung who doesn't even recognise the coding language you used, then you didn't create a supercomputer. (Mother/father boxes are sentient, autonomous computers btw.)

5. Young Justice was good. Great. It just seemed to stop caring as much about having the new audience learn about the characters after season 2. I wouldn't know who Razer is if I didn't watch Green Lantern: The Animated Series. I stopped having emotional connections with the characters by season 4 and they stopped wrapping up storylines in an emotionally fulfilling manor after season 2. As someone who never read any comic books except for Spider-man/Deadpool and a few green lantern ones and one batman and spider-man crossover, I don't care about the characters they shove into the show and expect everyone to care about.

6. I get it. The "he won't stop if he does it once" was only in one comic (apparently) and the comic was written by someone that (apparently) most of the fandom doesn't like. I don't care. Every reason he has for not killing is valid and coexists. He collects reasons to not kill like it's gold and he's a dragon. The only reason that is invalid and can't coexist is that he doesn't care enough about the people that could get hurt or killed to permanently stop people like Joker, Bane, or Scarecrow.

7. It makes sense if they were the two to get touch starved easily. Dick grew up in a circus where everyone was presumably pretty tight knit and Tim grew up in a home where appearance mattered more than feelings. But also they happen to be the characters I like to torture.

8. Strange is petty and I 100% believe that Tony started it. (Stephen is finishing it though.)

9. Freddy Freeman can't walk without crutches and flies in the comics. (I haven't read them, tho) I feel like it's erasing disabled peoples' struggles when they just give him the ability to walk in his hero form. Let him be a little flying guy who never touches the ground.

10. It's a comic thing again. I just think it's more interesting. (I found pages of captain marvel comics in google images and tumblr.)

[feminismisstillahatemovement]

We are living through a great showdown between hysteria and reason. On one side stand the adherents to the cult of transgenderism, hawking their hocus pocus about gendered souls and self-authentication through castration. On the other side stand those of us who know that biology is real, and that every cell in the human body is sexed, and that a man is as likely to become a woman as that chalice of wine is to become the blood of Christ during Mass (apologies, Catholics).

You’ll never guess which side some New Atheists are taking in this clash between delusion and truth. The crazy side. The side that says a bloke with a beard and balls can literally be a lesbian. Which is infinitely more cranky than the idea that a bloke with a beard and balls can literally be the Son of God. How did rationalist bros, those secularists on steroids, those Dawkins acolytes whose hobby for years was to make fun of the faithful, become devotees of such a strange, post-truth sect?

One by one, atheists are falling at the altar of trans. This week a Twitterfeed called The New Atheists slammed Richard Dawkins for becoming a TERF. Dawkins is a rarity in the new rationalist ranks: he thinks people with penises are men, not women, just as bread is bread, not the body of Christ. He is ‘utterly confused’, decreed his angry apostates. Biology ‘isn’t black and white, it’s a full spectrum of colour just like a rainbow’, they said. This hippyish belief that humans can pick their sex from a multicoloured smorgasbord is entirely an article of faith, of course, not science. Behold rationalism’s turncoats.

We’ve witnessed Neil deGrasse Tyson, America’s best-known scientist, bow to the creed of gender-as-feeling. In a TikTok video he said ‘XX/XY chromosomes are insufficient’ when it comes to reading someone’s sex, because what people feel matters along with their biology. So someone might feel mostly female one day but ‘80 per cent male’ the next, which means they’ll ‘remove the make-up’ and ‘wear a muscle shirt’. Sir, that’s cross-dressing; it does nothing to refute the truth of chromosomes, which absolutely do tell us what sex a person is. As destransitioner Chloe Cole said to Tyson, you’re ‘confusing basic human biology with cosmetics’.

We’ve seen Matt Dillahunty, a leading American atheist, promote the mystic cry that there’s a difference between ‘what your chromosomes are’ and your ‘gender identity’. ‘Transwomen are women’, he piously declares, perhaps keen to prove that while he might be fond of bashing the old religions, he has not one cross or blasphemous word to say about the new religion. Well, no one wants to be excommunicated from polite society.

Stephen Fry is another godless lover of science who appears to have converted to the trans belief. Phillip Pullman, Stewart Lee and others who were once noisy cheerleaders for rationalism are likewise strikingly reserved on this new ideology, this devotional movement which, among other things, invites young women to submit themselves to bodily mortification in order that they might transubstantiate into ‘men’. Seems like something a rationalist should question.

Then there’s Humanists UK. Even Britain’s most influential God-free organisation has thrown its lot in with the Flat Earthism of the post-sex ideology. It entreated the British government not to change the definition of sex in the Equality Act to mean ‘biological sex’. Why? Because some people have a mysterious inner gender – soul? – which apparently counts for more than their biological sex when it comes to the question of which social spaces they should be allowed to enter. Forget biology, forget science; make feeling king. Some women resigned from Humanists UK over what they viewed as its abandonment of ‘compassionate, scientific [and] rational’ principles in favour of the unreality of gender subjectivity.

Witness the treachery of the atheists. Yesterday’s warriors for rationalism are now footsoldiers of postmodern delirium. The religion-bashers who came to prominence in the 2000s now pray to the gods of gender correctness, whether from fear of cancellation or because they really have had a Damascene conversion to the idea that feelings override reality; that scientific truth must sometimes play second fiddle to our flattering of the self-esteem of men who say they’re women, women who say they’re men, and presumably mere mortals who claim to be God. After all, if Dave with his dick and five o’clock shadow can literally be a woman, why shouldn’t Gary be the Second Coming? Subjectivity rules, no?

The rationalist bluster of the New Atheists was all sound and fury, it seems. The minute a real struggle over reason exploded into public life, they vacated the battlefield or joined the other side, crying ‘transwomen are women!’ as they went to signal their fidelity to the new faith. It’s easy to bash the old religions, especially Christianity. Newspaper columns, invites to literary festivals and conference halls full of the fawning godless middle class awaited those who said: ‘Jesus walking on water? As if!’ The consequences of deviating from the trans ideology are far more severe. Columns are taken away, invites evaporate, the middle classes will gather to scorn not cheer. It is hard to avoid the conclusion that some public atheists value their reputations more than rationalism.

What makes their desertion of reason even more galling is that they’ve done it in response to a neo-religion that really is harming the young. Fundamentalist Christians might try to convert gay kids out of their homosexuality, but this new religion mutilates them out of it, by transing young lesbians into ‘boys’ and gay lads into ‘girls’. Faith schools might promote zany miracle stories to their pupils, but this new cult imbues kids with far more disorientating beliefs about 72 genders and girldick and lesbians with penises. The old religions frown on blasphemy, and so does this new one, with its treatment of any ‘denier’ of its theological criteria as a social leper. Especially if the ‘denier’ is a woman: yes, this religion also hates uppity women. And yet it is at this moment, with all this unfolding, that some rationalists take a break from rationalism. It is moral cowardice in the garb of social justice.

Others go further than to criticise the complicity of some New Atheists with modern unreason. They say these godless agitators are to blame for the new madness. In chasing God from society, in further weakening the church, they ‘created a void that a new, dangerous ideology [has] filled’, says Tim Stanley at the Daily Telegraph. Kill God, get trans. Which means that even Dawkins, TERF-ish as he is, is partly culpable for the lunacy he now laments.

I think there’s something in this. But the problem is not that the New Atheists made a ‘void’ that others rushed to fill. It’s that they actively helped to foster the very hyper-atomisation that underpins an ideology like transgenderism. With their promotion of the post-God and post-humanist belief that human beings are nothing more than genetic machines, bundles of DNA in a pitiless world without meaning, the New Atheists contributed to our era’s great, tragic retreat of the individual from the social world into the self. From the external world of connection and engagement into the diminished universe of genetic determinism, bodily transformation and jealous cultivation of one’s own narcissistic virtue.

So, yes, there is a line from Dawkins to trans. Dawkins’ contribution to elite thinking was colossal, especially with his 1976 book, The Selfish Gene. He made evolutionary biology mainstream, the idea that we humans are not as special as we thought. Our universe has ‘no design, no purpose, no evil and no good, nothing but blind pitiless indifference’, he once wrote: ‘DNA neither cares nor knows. DNA just is. And we dance to its music.’ Dance to its music. The most striking thing about Dawkins and other neo-Darwinists was not their atheism, said the great moral philosopher Mary Midgley, but their ‘fatalism’. In The Solitary Self, her stinging critique of the new evolutionists, Midgley rebuked Dawkins for his depiction of ‘helpless humans enslaved by a callous-like fate-figure’. Only his fatalistic view was more deadening than that of Ancient scribes, she wrote, because this time the ‘cosmic bully’ controlling our fate is not a ‘pagan deity’ but ‘a chemical, DNA, a part of our own cells’. ‘Like other organisms’, she lamented, we’re seen as ‘lumbering robots ruled by [biology]’.

The Dawkins view grew in influence in the 1980s and 1990s. It was given expression in the soulless technocracy of the New Atheism. It merged with other atomising trends of our time – the decline of social institutions, the rise of a culture of fear, and, yes, the withering of religion – to exacerbate a view of the individual as utterly alone, a genetic creature more than a social one, ruled not by reason but by instructions sent by our DNA. ‘Biological Thatcherism’, Midgley called it.

And here’s the thing: if we are our biology, and that alone, doesn’t it make sense that individuals who want to change themselves would feel the need to change their biology? If we dance to the music of our DNA, doesn’t it follow that people who want to become something else, something different, will have the urge to change the music of their DNA? In short, there is a link, surely, between the post-1970s reduction of the human being to mere genetics and this new millennium’s fad for trying, however forlornly, to alter oneself at the level of genetics. Taking hormones, cutting bits off, removing testes, removing ovaries, injecting, mutilating, pursuing a ceaseless, pitiless war against one’s very biological essence. That the trans movement, and identitarianism more broadly, treats the body as the sole site of change should not be surprising in our era of biological Thatcherism where there is no society, no morality, no good, no evil – just bodies, stardust made flesh, all following genetic impulses. There is a close relationship between the modern ideologies of atomisation and the fruitless infernal war the young now wage on their own bodies, on their DNA prisons we’re all told we inhabit.

Perhaps Dawkins is the grandfather of transgenderism. I jest. But I do think we need to wriggle free from this clash between biological determinism on one side and self-destructive biological ‘liberation’ on the other. Biology is real, but it does not control us. You cannot change your sex but you can change your circumstances. That, however, requires that we go beyond both the biological Thatcherism of the new sciences and the neoliberal self-regard of identity politics and rediscover our place in a world of other people and other ideas. We’re social creatures, not ‘lumbering robots’ to be controlled or, worse, carved up and replaced with new parts.

------------------------------------

Brendan O’Neill is spiked’s chief political writer and host of the spiked podcast, The Brendan O’Neill Show. Subscribe to the podcast here. His new book – A Heretic’s Manifesto: Essays on the Unsayable – is available to order on Amazon UK and Amazon US now.