Ftm soap x ftm reader please?
That almost makes it worse.
He knows what it is the second it happens. He’s known it could still happen. He’d prepared for it in theory, told himself he was fine with it, that it didn’t change anything.
But knowing and feeling are two very different things.
He’s quiet all evening. Short answers. Too controlled. When you finally ask what’s going on, he hesitates, then exhales through his nose like he’s bracing himself.
“It’s back,” he says. “You know. That.”
There’s frustration there, not shock. Not fear. Just exhaustion.
That simple response makes him frown slightly. “That’s it?”
“What do you need?” you ask instead.
He rubs a hand over his face, jaw tight. “I don’t know. That’s the problem. I did everything right. I transitioned. I’m me now. And I still have to, deal with this.”
The words come out sharper than he means them to. He doesn’t look at you when he adds, quieter, “Feels like I’m carryin’ around somethin’ that doesn’t belong to me anymore.”
You sit beside him, close but not crowding.
“I get that,” you say. “It doesn’t feel fair.”
That cracks something. He finally looks at you, eyes dark with conflict. “I don’t want it to mean anything. But it does. Every time.”
You tell him it doesn’t have to define him, but you don’t dismiss how much it messes with his head. You talk about practicality, not identity. About adapting. About finding ways to make it less of a thing. Something managed, not endured.
“Your body’s doing a function,” you say gently. “It’s not making a statement about who you are.”
He’s quiet for a long moment.
“…Still hate it,” he mutters.
You smile softly. “Yeah. Me too.”
That shared honesty helps more than reassurance ever could.
Later, you help him set things up in a way that feels right for him, choices, control, privacy. You don’t assume. You ask. You let him decide. That matters more than anything.
When he finally sits back, tension eased just a little, he admits, “I didn’t want to deal with this alone.”
“You’re not,” you say, like it’s obvious.
He leans into you without thinking, forehead resting briefly against your shoulder. It’s not dramatic. It’s not a breakdown.
And for the first time since it started, he feels like this is something he can live with, not because it doesn’t bother him, but because he doesn’t have to fight it by himself.
