-> Spencer Reid helping his FTM!boyfriend put on his trans tape!!

details: Male!reader, FTM!reader, transgenderism!!, comfort, fluff, Spencer loves and accepts his boyfriend, mentions of breasts/XX chromosome anatomy, use of Y/N, kinda a bit angsty??, dysphoria vent, 426 words!!

Spencer could hear grunting coming from their shared bedroom in their apartment. He raised an eyebrow, what was Y/N doing? Spencer knocked, "May I come in?" "Yeah." Spencer gently opened the door to find Y/N curled up on the floor, knees to his chest. "What's wrong?" Spencer asked softly.

Y/N sniffled. "I can't get my tape on properly.. no matter how many times I try." Spencer's gaze filled with love.. "That's tough, I'm sorry." Spencer knelt down beside him. "Do you want some help?"

Y/N sat up, running his hand through his hair. "I guess so.." Spencer smiled, picking up his phone. Spencer browsed the internet for a couple minutes, before skimming over an article. "Here.. this one states how to put it on effectively... May I try?" Y/N nodded.

Spencer positioned Y/N gently, so that his breasts were easily accessed. He ripped a piece of tape off the roll and gently stuck it over Y/N's left breast. Spencer followed to article EXACTLY, making sure that he was gentle, and that the tape wasn't too tight while also flattening effectively.

After Spencer finished, he embraced Y/N, kissing the top of his head. "I love you, Y/N. You know that? I love you no matter how flat you are." Y/N hugged back, grateful that his boyfriend was so kind and accepting. "I don't know why you do.." Spencer's expression hardened, and he tilted Y/N face to look at him.

"Y/N, I love you SO much. More than you'll ever know. I don't care about what they assigned you at birth, I care about who you are now, with me. I don't want another man. I want you. I love you. Even if it's tough to see it sometimes." Y/N blinked back tears.. "I just.. I'm scared you'll see a better guy.. a cis guy.. a-and you'll realise how inadequate I am compared to him.."

Spencer teared up himself. "No no no." He hugged Y/N tightly. "I love you. Every part of you. I don't care that you're trans. You're my BOYFRIEND. I think you're more than 'adequate'. I think you're perfect for me. If loving you costs little moments like these, then I'd live 100 more years as your boyfriend. As far as I'm concerned, no other guys exists."

Comfortable silence fell over the two. Spencer held onto Y/N tightly, and Y/N took deep breaths, calming himself down.. "I love you, Spencer." Spencer smiled in response. "I love you more, sweetheart."

If you had any common sense, you might be the first one to call Lord Tony Baddingham a bastard. After all, what's redeemable about him? He cheats on his wife, he's short with his employees. He's scheming, conniving, Machiavellian, some might say evil. He's a liar, a manipulator, a hedonist, a tyrant, a shark. He's also your employer. And your lover.

You're his pet and you're glad to be because, on top of all the bad things the man is, he always knows just what to say when it comes to you. A little praise and a hand on the small of your back and you're just putty in his hands, melting like butter on a smoking-hot pan. He's experimental and he doesn't shy away from exploring that with you. Whatever he wants, you let him take. You're powerless; you could never deny him. He scares you. You love it.

It's a regular day in the Corinium office; nothing notable has happened and you've just gone about your job. Apprentice seems to translate to general dogsbody so you've been running messages throughout the building, sorting through scheduling timetables and keeping the pantry of the break-room fully-stocked with Bourbons. You sometimes catch a glimpse of Tony out of the corner of your eye and he'll give you that sly wink of his or a smirk and your cheeks flush pink. You hate how just the way he smokes his cigar makes heat pool between your legs, tobacco smoke curling from his lips like a serpent. He's awful, awful, awful but you'd crawl on your belly through broken glass if he'd just pet your hair and call you his 'good boy'.

As always, as the office empties out, Tony stands in the doorframe of his office, giving people nods as they leave for the night. But you know better; he's waiting for you. When he catches your eye, he gives you a knowing grin and slinks back into his office. And you follow him, despite yourself.

When you get into his office, dusk is settling. The blinds are drawn and he looks up from his desk, loosening his tie with deliberate casualness.

"There you are. Lock the door." You do and he leans back in his chair, crossing his legs and taking a long sip of his single malt. "Come here." It's not a request.

You seem hesitant today as you round his desk. You tell him so.

"It isn't a good day today, Tony." You wring your hands in front of you, the sleeves of your jumper almost covering your hands. Thank God for the high neckline of it or everyone would be able to see the myriad of dark hickeys he left on you last Friday.

Instead of pulling you into his lap as he usually does, he reaches out to grasp your wrist, long fingers coiling easily around it.

"What's wrong?" His tone softens ever so slightly, just that little bit, to give you the impression that he actually cares about you. But who really knows if Tony Baddingham is capable of such a thing.

"It's just...not a good day for this, that's all." You repeat vaguely, unable to meet his gaze as heat rises to your cheeks. His grip on your wrist doesn't loosen but his thumb follows the tendons and veins there, feeling your pulse fluttering under the skin. He gently pulls you sideways to lean on the edge of his desk, standing and coming to stand between your knees.

"Why?" His voice drops lower, fingers tilting your chin to meet his gaze. "Tell me everything, pet." His arms wrap around your shoulders and you're enveloped in the scent of bergamot, leather and expensive tobacco. The scent of his cologne permeates your sheets, your settee, every piece of clothing you own. You can't escape it. Or him. "Talk to me." He sounds stern, almost paternal. He knows just voice, the words, to crack you open.

You pause for a long moment.

"... I'm on my period." You relent and he makes a face; not disgusted or disappointed, more...offended?

"Is that all?" He asks hands dropping to your hips, slipping just under the hem of your jumper to rub his thumbs into the skin above your waistband. "Does it hurt?"

"No, not really." There's another long pause before he pulls you closer and presses a kiss to your forehead. You melt against him.

"Then what's the problem, pet?" Large hands roam across your body, you feel your tension dissipating but the anxiety still gnaws at the back of your mind.

"It's just messy." You reply and he let out a low, reassuring chuckle, arms tightening around you securely.

"And? You think I can't handle a bit of blood?" He pulls back just enough to look at you, cupping your jaw and lightly thumbing your cheekbone. Your eyes widen.

"It's not just 'a bit'!" His grip on your chin forces you to maintain eye contact as the other hand slides between your thighs, pressing firmly against the fabric of your trousers. Your breath catches in your throat.

"Show me." He commands. It's quiet but there's no room for refusal. He leans closer, lips grazing your ear, breath hot on your skin. "I want to see just how messy my special boy is." A shiver rattles down your spine.

"O-Okay..."

Tony steps back and gives you space to move. His eyes are dark with curiosity and...lust? He collapses back in his chair, taking another sip of whiskey.

"Don't be shy; over my desk, trousers down." He orders and you nod, turning around to pitch yourself over his desk. Your fingers fumble with the button and zip of your trousers but you manage to push them down, your cheeks burning with embarrassment and anticipation.

He notices first the fact that you're wearing women's underwear. He's never seen that from you before; only loose boxers. Next, he spies the wings of the sanitary pad curled clumsily around the gusset. You don't see it but a savage smirk curls at his lips as he rolls up his sleeves. "Christ... Pull them down." You swallow thickly and do as he says, hesitating a moment before pushing down your underwear. When he looks, there looks to be barely any blood but his eyes lock onto the string visible between your thighs. "So this is what all the fuss was about? A bit of blood and a tampon?" He asks and his warm hands slide down your thighs, making your knees buckle before you catch yourself, pushing your trousers and underwear down to your ankles. Your voice wavers as you speak, his touch distracting you from even the simplest of words.

"But it means we can't... We can't do it today." You repeat again.

"Can't do what exactly?" He asks, bracing his hands on the back of your thighs, thumbs inching dangerously close to your cunt. He stands slightly, pressing a kiss to your tailbone. "You think a little blood'll stop me from playing with what's mine?" He sounds almost amused by your assumption. You should've known that nothing stops Lord Baddingham from playing with his toys, especially not a pesky trick of nature like menses.

You can't help but let out a quiet moan. What's his... Yes, of course, who were you to assume that him, of all people, would be put off by blood. Of course not, the man's a pervert.

He spreads you open, inspecting you thoroughly. "Relax..." And his tone drops to that low, possessive hum he uses when he's educating you. "Step out of these." He lightly tugs at your trousers, pooled around your ankles. "And take off your shoes and socks."

You obey before you can think about it, stepping out of your trousers and underwear so he can move them out of the way before toeing off your shoes and socks so he can do the same with those. "Good boy." That familiar heat coils in the pit of your stomach and you press your face against his leather desk blotter, catching your lip between your teeth. His hands immediately resume their exploration, spreading you open again, gaze fixed on the white string, stark against the nest of hair between your legs.

One hand on the small of your back keeps you steady while the other reaches between your thighs, fingertips sliding either side of your cunt, teasing either side of where the string is nestled. "See?" He murmurs against your skin, peppering the back of your thighs with feather-light kisses. "Nothing to be frightened of, pet."

When you whine, he hushes you, a finger curling around the string and pulling it taut. You feel the tampon slowly inching out but his other hand remains a firm yet comforting weight on the bare curve of your lower back.

"Don't..." You whisper weakly but he ignores your protest, continuing to pull it out with agonising slowness. It drags against your sensitive nerves and your whole body tenses with anticipation.

When it finally comes free, Tony holds it up, a prize, drenched with deep red, dangling from a flimsy string. Somehow, the saturated cotton plug in his hand has his cock twitching in his tailored trousers. Just how much the thing has absorbed from your body makes him breathless with a kind of primordial lust. He groans, low and hungry, a sound you feel more than hear.

He drops the tampon in the bin beside his desk his hands return to your hips and thighs. You start to leak already, blood oozing out to coat your swollen clit and drip down your inner thighs in thin, crimson rivulets.

"There's a good boy." He praises but you can feel the warmth running down your thighs, calves, ankles and seeping into the carpet.

"Tony..." You go to object but he grips your thighs firmly, brooking no argument.

"Stay still." His voice is thick with arousal, one hand moving down to spread the blood over your tender folds of your cunt with his thumb. "Let me see." He murmurs and you let out another quiet moan, trying to stay quiet as he works.

Eventually, he slides two long, slender fingers inside you and you stiffen slightly, taking in a sharp breath. Your walls are tender, swollen and slick with blood. "Christ..." He breathes. His fingers curl inside you as he begins to slide them in and out. He's unexpectedly gentle, almost testing to see if it's hurting you. It isn't. Honestly, you're halfway in shock that he'd even do this, that he'd want to do this.

His fingers make you squirm as more blood oozes out, swelling around his fingers and dripping down your thighs. You arch your back and he adds a third finger with surprising ease. "That's it." He praises again as you present yourself to him. You begin to grind back on his fingers subconsciously. "Greedy boy." He murmurs approvingly. He twists his fingers inside you, making you grab the opposite end of the desk. "Look at the mess you're making on my carpet. Absolutely filthy." He purrs, beginning to pump his fingers just that little bit faster, finding and deliberately targeting your sweet spot.

"Mmnn... Sorry, sir... Didn't want to...make a mess..." You pant out as he curls his fingers again, adjusting his techniques to draw only the lewdest of sounds from you.

"'Sorry'?" He chuckles darkly, fingers now moving in that perfect rhythm that has you gasping and moaning for him. "Don't be sorry, pup. This... This is exactly where you belong; spilling blood all over my expensive carpet because addy's got his fingers buried inside your messy. little cunt. Understand?" God, you love it when he's crass, when that proper, businessman façade falls away and you finally see the man — the devil – you're truly dealing with. He's old enough to be your father and he fucking loves it.

"Y-Yes, daddy..." You sigh but he's had enough.

He stands, jaw set, as he unbuttons his trousers. He pulls his fingers free with a wet pop, the digits stained and dripping with red. In one swift movement, he's stood and freed, lining up at your entrance and pressing the thick head of his cock against your blood-slick folds.

"Tell me you want it, boy." He demands, and you writhe on his desk, hips bucking back in an unsuccessful attempt to get him inside you.

"I want it. Want it so bad, daddy. Please..." You plead with him and he doesn't hesitate.

Tony pushes himself in with one, long trust, groaning deeply as your swollen walls immediately squeeze around him. You're impossibly tight and unbearably wet; the blood making every drag obscene, every inch of him coated in crimson.

"Jesus fucking Christ..." He gasps, hands folding around your hips and holding you bruisingly tight. You whimper in kind, nails digging into his desk blotter.

"Fuck...! Ahh... Mmmnn..." He's never heard you so vocal. He takes a moment to revel in the strange new sensation before he starts rocking his hips, moving in slow, deep thrusts.

"That's it. Looks like a fucking crime scene back here." The comment makes your cheeks burn but you can't find it in you to care anymore, not when he's keeping that same, deliberate pace. Every stroke has you pulsing around him, gripping him, drawing out lewd, wet sounds as blood coats his cock. A hand slides along your spine, pressing flat between your shoulder blades to keep you pinned beneath him. Then his eyes hone in on the sight of his cock coming out a deep red. It's filthy, hypnotising, and he's entranced. "Jesus..." He huffs, watching himself disappear inside you again.

Moving his hand from your back, he grabs a handful of your hair and twists your head to the side, sinking his teeth into the sensitive skin of your neck, leaving a deep, red mark that should be blue and purple by morning. He growls against your throat, rutting into you like an animal, sucking bruises into your skin. He's a fox and you're the rabbit caught between his jaws. "Good boy." He grits out again and it makes pleasure shoot from your toes, up your legs and along your spine.

"Thank you, daddy. F-Fuck... Ohhh, fuck..."

"Language, pet." He chuckles breathlessly, biting and sucking harder as he picks up the pace a little. The sensation is overwhelming; blood coating him liberally before dripping down onto the carpet. You're gripping him tighter with every pass and he's loving every second of it. "Look at this mess." You don't have a chance to reply because he's sucking another mark into the bend of your neck. He's claiming you as his, over and over.

His thrusts are getting faster again, lips just by your head, heavy breaths hot on the shell of your ear. "Getting close, pup?" He asks and you nod jerkily.

"Yes, daddy..."

"Good lad." His tongue snakes out to soothe the sting of the latest mark and he snaps his hips forward just that little bit harder, grinding deep against your swollen, bleeding cervix. It has you whimpering, begging to cum. "Give it to me. Fucking cum on my prick like a good, little boy." He snarls and you push yourself onto your toes, changing the angle slightly, until his cockhead jams against the side of your cervix and into your sweet spot. He reaches around, fingers sliding over the hood of your clit, coated in blood, making it sticky and wet. He rubs faster and faster and you can feel the tension building, coiling, boiling in the bit of your stomach. "That's it... Cum for daddy, pet."

Your nails leave crescent indents in his desk blotter as you push back against him. Your moth falls open. He takes advantage by twisting your head further to the side and sliding his tongue into your mouth. The kiss is filthy and desperate, his tongue fucking your mouth in the same rhythm his hips are pistoning at. You cum around his cock and swell around him, a rush of slickness as your whole body clenches, squeezing the blood from deeper within.

You whimper, shudder and whine as he fucks you through your climax, sending you into overstimulation that borders on pain. You chant his name over and over like a mantra and he doesn't let up, fucking your oversensitive cunt like his life depends on it. Your name becomes a curse on his lips as he groans into your mouth, hips stuttering. "Fuck— Going to— Fuck—" His thumb finds your clit again, rubbing in hard circles. It earns him a sob as you clench down around him again, gripping the other edge of the desk. "Going to fill you up, pup. Going to pump this ruined cunt full of—"

And his control snaps. He buries himself to the base and sinks his nails into the soft skin of your hips as he unloads inside you. Thick ropes of white paint your bleeding walls and he still doesn't stop. He grabs one of your thighs and hitches it up on the edge of the desk so he can get even deeper, fucking his load deeper into you. You manage a hoarse whisper of his name again and he shushes you, holding you open as he empties himself into you completely.

When he finally stills, chest heaving, he wraps an arm around your waist, keeping you bent over his desk, his softening cock still buried inside you. He's not ready to let you go just yet. You turn your head to face him again and he claims your mouth in a slow, deep, claiming kiss. His hips shift slightly and you moan into his mouth as he moves inside your messy, overstimulated hole. "Let's take a look at the damage."

Carefully pulling out, he inspects the mess he's made, watching blood and semen seep out to coat your clit. "God, look at this mess. You'll be sore tomorrow." He says though you can very clearly hear the smugness in his voice. He reaches for the box of tissues on his desk. "Now, let's get you cleaned up." You turn slightly to look at him.

"What're you going to tell the cleaner?" You ask and he laughs.

"I had a very violent nosebleed. That's all. Now, don't you worry your pretty, little head about a thing. Daddy's here to take care of everything."

if you got this far, it’d be lovely if you dropped me a kudos or a comment (whatever you have time for) on ao3. thanks for reading 💛✨

it’s quite normal for a firelord and his consort to be as debauchery as their hearts desired, what’s not heard of is a consort carrying an heir.

the throne room was empty, nothing but your moans and the sound of wet skin smacking against each other crowds every corner. one perk of being zuko’s only consort is how excusable your behavior is, after all, who dares to come between the firelord and his pleasure? unless they either want to peep like a pervert, an action punishable by burning alive. zuko doesn’t like to share his beloveds, especially when you’re taking his girth so obediently.

“good boy..” he groans, gold eyes glued onto your fucked out face. “you’re doing so beautifully..fuck..” he’s lost count how many times you came, gushing around his length for god knows how long. yet, you kept slamming your cunt down onto his leaking cock. “mmm..my lord..!” you whined. “it’s too much—ah!” you’re words were punched out when zuko pistons himself deeper, his tip kissing your cervix oh so gently even when his grip told a different story. it was never too much for the great firelord, not until he was fully done with you.

something snapped inside him, enough to where his palms burned their prints onto the plush of your hips as he yanked you up and down his dick that was now twitching and spurting gobs of his hot seed in your womb. shock, confusion and arousal ran through your nerves and brain, taken off gaurd by zuko’s sudden carelessness. “my lord..?! w-what are you..?!”

“forgive me, my love..” he muttered into your ear, his huge body now pressed against yours in an intimate lotus position. “but allow me to be selfish with you..”

you could barley get a word out, let alone a protest, before he slams himself as deep as he possibly could with his intentions written in the way he fucks. “you’re so perfect—ah—for me..” his voice was shook with excitement, something perverted you haven’t seen from him since the first night he had you in his chamber. “i beg of you..carry my child, my love.” words he blurted out with a flushed face and a soft smile like he’s staring at his husband. you couldn’t say no to him, not when the thought of being filled to the brim with his cum was an honor some would kill for.

“ngh, yes my lord! y-yes!” you wailed. your judgement has certainly flown out the window, every competent thought you had before have melted into a sex infested pile of mush. it felt too good, way too good to say no to carrying an heir for zuko. consort status be damned, the firelord has chosen whom will bear his kin. “my lord—“

“zuko.” he interrupts not with authority, but a buried vulnerability. “please, call me by my name..” he almost pleads, his face belonging to a man in love then another ruler fucking his frustration out on another no name lover. you’ve never seen this side of zuko before, and it shattered your view of him in a heartbeat. “of course..zuko.” your breath was shakey, both from the shock of the moment and the sudden, warm wave of his cum filling your ruined cunt. did he just orgasm from that alone..? you weren’t given a chance to process it before he continued to push and pull you down by his hips, your over sensitive pussy already spasming another orgasm out. “ack! z-zuko..! ‘m gonna cum againnn!”

“haah..let go, beloved. you deserve it for being so good f’me..”

waves of pleasure crashed over your trembling body, tears blinding your vision as you shook another orgasm out of your full and aching body. you swore you could see stars as zuko finally pulled out of your puffy cunt, gobs of cum immediate spilling out yet it didn’t perturbed him. he knew it was enough to leave a growing child in you for the next nine months, a gentle smile spread onto his lips before he planted them on yours.

suddenly, the title of consort no longer fit you.