u/thequietreign

I keep seeing posts about how hard it is to find girls who like femboys, and I just wanted to say: we’re definitely out here.

There really is someone for everyone, including femboys. Sometimes it just takes patience, confidence, and a little courage. If you see someone you want to talk to, go for it. The worst that can happen is they don’t reply.

And honestly, just because you aren’t one person’s type doesn’t mean you aren’t someone else’s dream person. Everyone has different preferences, turn-ons, and things they’re attracted to. You just have to find the person whose vibe matches yours.

The first rule she gave him was simple:

No apologizing for existing.

Which was unfortunate for him, because apologizing was basically his favorite hobby.

Tonight alone, he’d already said sorry six times.

Sorry for rambling.
Sorry for double texting.
Sorry for being needy.
Sorry for missing her call because he fell asleep after work.

By the seventh apology, she finally sighed dramatically into the phone.

“Oh, this is getting ridiculous.”

A guilty smile tugged at his lips. “Sorry.”

“Mm. Eight.”

He buried his face in his pillow while she laughed softly on the other end.

They’d been together long enough that she knew exactly where this came from. Years of making himself smaller to avoid being inconvenient. Years of thinking affection had to be earned through perfect behavior.

She hated that.

Not him.

Just the way the world had taught him to hold himself.

“Get up,” she ordered lightly.

“What?”

“Go to the mirror.”

He blinked. “Right now?”

“Yes, right now.”

Still half-confused, he carried his phone into the bathroom. The harsh light made him squint immediately.

“Okay…”

“Look at yourself.”

“I am.”

“No. Actually look.”

He hesitated.

She watched his expression shift as he focused on his reflection instead of avoiding it like usual.

“What do you see?” she asked.

“A tired guy holding a phone?”

“Wrong.”

He snorted quietly.

“I see someone who works hard,” she continued. “Someone who cares too much. Someone who worries constantly about being a burden when he’s actually one of the gentlest people I know.”

His eyes flicked away from the mirror instantly.

“Look back.”

He obeyed.

“There he is,” she murmured approvingly.

His cheeks pinked a little.

“You know what your problem is?”

“What?”

“You talk to yourself like someone who was never handled carefully.”

That one landed.

She could tell by the sudden silence.

Then she softened her tone immediately. “But we’re fixing that.”

His voice came out quieter now. “How?”

“Repetition.”

He frowned slightly.

“You hear me praise you constantly, don’t you?”

“…Yeah.”

“And eventually you started believing some of it.”

“A little.”

“A little becomes more.”

He leaned against the sink, looking at himself with an expression somewhere between embarrassment and longing.

“Now,” she said calmly, “tell me one thing you like about yourself.”

He groaned immediately. “Mommy.”

“One thing.”

“That’s evil.”

“Correct. Answer the question.”

He stared at his reflection for a long moment.

Finally:
“…I think I’m good at taking care of people.”

Her expression softened instantly.

“Yes,” she said quietly. “You are.”

Something emotional flickered across his face so fast he tried to hide it.

Too late.

“Oh, sweetheart.”

“I’m fine.”

“Mhm. That’s why you look like you’re about to cry in my bathroom.”

“Our bathroom,” he corrected automatically.

She blinked once.

Then smiled slowly.

“Our bathroom?”

Realization hit him a second too late.

His eyes widened. “I didn’t mean—”

“You did.”

His entire face turned red while she tried not to laugh too hard.

“You’re impossible,” he muttered.

“And you,” she said warmly, “are staying on that call until you say three nice things about yourself.”

“That’s torture.”

“That’s growth.”

The apartment was quiet except for the soft hum of rain against the windows.

She sat curled up on the couch in one of his hoodies, scrolling mindlessly through her phone while the weight of the week pressed against her chest. Usually, she was the steady one. The one who reminded him to drink water, who checked his sleep schedule, who teased him into smiling after hard days. But tonight, her energy was gone.

Three states away, he noticed immediately.

Her texts had shortened. No playful commands. No teasing little “good boy” messages during the day. Just exhaustion tucked between every sentence.

Long day, Mommy?

She stared at the screen for a moment before replying.

Very.

His typing bubble appeared instantly.

Camera? Please?

Normally she would have made him earn it. Tonight she simply pressed call.

The moment her face appeared on his screen, his expression softened. “You look tired.”

“I am tired,” she admitted quietly.

He adjusted his phone, settling deeper into his bed. “Then tonight you don’t have to take care of me.”

A faint smile tugged at her lips. “That’s kind of my thing, though.”

“Not tonight.”

The rain filled the silence for a few seconds.

Then he disappeared briefly off camera before returning with something she recognized instantly, the stuffed bear she had mailed him months ago after a panic attack.

“You told me once,” he said carefully, “that care goes both ways. Even in this dynamic.”

Her eyes burned unexpectedly.

He continued softly, “So… Mommy gets babied tonight.”

She laughed under her breath. “That sounds illegal.”

“I make the rules temporarily.”

“Oh, do you now?”

“A little.” His grin was nervous but determined. “Now go get your blanket.”

She rolled her eyes dramatically, but she listened.

He spent the next hour talking her through tiny things she usually ignored for herself. Water. Food. Taking off her makeup. Plugging in her phone instead of letting it die at 2%.

At one point, while she sat wrapped in blankets with damp hair and sleepy eyes, he whispered, “There she is.”

“Who?”

“My girl.”

The words hit differently when she was the one being cared for.

“You know,” he murmured, “you always make softness feel safe for me. I just wanted to give some back.”

She looked down to hide how emotional that made her.

“Hey,” he said gently.

“Hm?”

“You don’t stop being deserving of care just because you’re the dominant one.”

That silence afterward was warmer than anything either of them could have said.

Eventually, she ended up half-asleep on the couch while he rambled quietly about nonsense just to keep her company. Random facts. Dumb stories. A dramatic retelling of how he burned microwave popcorn earlier.

By the time her eyes fully closed, she heard him whisper softly through the speaker:

“Sleep well, Mommy. I’ve got you tonight.”

The voice message came through at 1:13 a.m.

Soft laughter in the background.
Then hers.

“Behave while I’m gone, sweetheart.”

That was all.

Usually hearing her voice settled him instantly.

Tonight it didn’t.

He replayed the message anyway, staring at the ceiling of his apartment while jealousy twisted painfully in his chest. He hated feeling like this. Hated how irrational it sounded in his own head.

But she’d been busy all week.

Shorter replies.

Later calls.

And tonight she was out with friends instead of curled in bed with him on FaceTime like usual.

His thumb hovered over the keyboard three separate times before he finally tossed his phone onto the bed beside him.

Needy.

Possessive.

Too much.

That’s what it felt like.

So instead of saying anything, he stayed quiet.

Which she noticed immediately.

His phone buzzed ten minutes later.

Mommy:
Why are you brooding?

He stared at the message.

Then another appeared.

Mommy:
You’re overthinking again, aren’t you?

Damn her for knowing him so well.

He finally typed back.

Baby:
No.

Three dots appeared instantly.

Mommy:
Liar.

Heat crawled up his neck despite being alone.

Another message.

Mommy:
Talk to me.

He sighed heavily before typing slower this time.

Baby:
I just miss you.

The typing bubble paused longer this time.

Then:
Mommy:
Oh, sweetheart.

That tenderness almost made it worse.

His phone rang before he could respond.

He answered immediately.

Her face appeared on screen under dim golden restaurant lighting. Pretty.

Relaxed. Smiling softly at him the second he picked up.

“There’s my clingy boy.”

“I’m not clingy.”

“You’re pouting.”

“I’m not pouting either.”

Her grin widened slightly. “You’re terrible at hiding your feelings.”

He looked away from the camera, embarrassed by how easily she read him.

The noise of the restaurant buzzed quietly behind her.

“You wanna know something?” she asked gently.

“What?”

“I left the table because my boy needed me.”

His chest tightened instantly.

She leaned slightly closer to the phone.

“You could’ve just told me you missed me.”

“I didn’t wanna ruin your night.”

“You wouldn’t.”

Her tone held that calm certainty he always melted for.

“You know,” she continued softly,
“sometimes I think you forget you’re allowed to need things from me too.”

He swallowed hard.

Because that was exactly it.

He worried constantly about being overwhelming. About asking for too much attention. Too much reassurance.

She must’ve seen the conflict on his face because her expression softened further.

“Look at me.”

He obeyed immediately.

“I chose you,” she said quietly. “No one is forcing me to call you from a crowded restaurant because you got jealous and sad.”

Mortification flashed across his face. “I was not jealous.”

“You absolutely were.”

“I hate you.”

“No you don’t.”
Unfortunately, she sounded entirely too pleased with herself.

He finally cracked a reluctant smile.

“There he is,” she murmured warmly.

Then her voice lowered slightly.

“And for the record?” She tilted her head. “You’re still the person I’d rather be in bed talking to right now.”

His face went red instantly.

She laughed softly at the reaction.

“Better?”

“A little.”

“Mhm.” Her eyes softened. “Good boy for telling me the truth eventually.”
And just like that, the jealousy loosened its grip around his ribs.

Not because she scolded him for feeling it.

But because she made him feel safe enough to admit it.

The video call connected quietly.

He smiled the second her face appeared on the screen, but the smile faded almost immediately when he really looked at her.

The room around her was dark except for the soft glow of a lamp somewhere behind the couch. She sat curled beneath a blanket with tired eyes and messy hair, barely paying attention to the show flickering on the TV beside her.

“You okay, Mommy?” he asked softly.

“Mmhm.”

Too fast.

Too automatic.

He knew that tone by now.

Usually she greeted him with teasing remarks or that calm, warm confidence that always made his stomach flutter through the screen. Tonight she just looked exhausted.

He adjusted his phone against his pillow and watched her quietly for a moment.

“When did you last eat?”

She sighed immediately. “Not this again.”

“So you haven’t.”

“I had a diet soda.”

“That’s not food.”

A tiny flicker of irritation crossed her face before fading into guilt almost instantly. “I’m just tired.”

He stayed gentle. “I know.”

Rain tapped against her windows loudly enough for him to hear through the speakers. The sound filled the silence between them.

Long distance always felt worse on nights like this.

Most days they made it work easily. Constant texts. Voice notes. Calls that lasted until one of them accidentally fell asleep first.

But when she got quiet like this, distance became unbearable.

Because he couldn’t just pull her into his arms.

Couldn’t kneel between her legs and rest his head in her lap until she smiled again.

Couldn’t take care of her the way she deserved.

“You’ve been crying,” he said quietly.

Her eyes flicked away from the camera.

“No I haven’t.”

“Mommy.”

The title came out softer this time. Concerned.

She pressed her lips together.

“I didn’t want to ruin our night.”

His chest hurt a little hearing that.

“You don’t ruin things by being sad.”

Something in her expression cracked slightly at that.

She laughed under her breath, though it sounded fragile. “You’re supposed to be the needy one, remember?”

“Says who?”

“You.”

“Well, I think you’re wrong.”

That finally pulled the smallest smile from her.

He immediately relaxed a little seeing it.

“There she is.”

“Don’t start.”

“You disappeared all week and now you look like you haven’t slept in days. I’m absolutely starting.”

She rolled her eyes weakly, but he could tell she liked hearing the concern underneath the teasing.

He leaned closer to the camera. “Can you turn another light on for me?”

“I look awful.”

“You look sad.”

The honesty made her go quiet.

After a second, she reached over and switched on another lamp. Warm light spilled across the room, illuminating the dark circles beneath her eyes and the oversized sweatshirt swallowing her hands.

His heart squeezed painfully.

She looked so small tonight.

Not physically.

Emotionally.

Like the weight she usually carried so elegantly had finally become too heavy.

“You wanna tell me what happened?” he asked.

“I don’t even know.” Her voice dropped softer. “Everything just feels… exhausting lately.”

He nodded slowly.

No quick fixes.

No fake positivity.

Just listening.

She rubbed tiredly at one eye before continuing. “I’m behind on everything. I haven’t had energy for anything. I feel guilty for disappearing on you.” A bitter laugh escaped her. “Some Mommy I am.”

His expression changed instantly.

“Don’t do that.”

“What?”

“Talk about yourself like that.”

She looked away again.

“You take care of me constantly,” he said softly. “You stay up with me when my anxiety gets bad. You remind me to eat. You calm me down after nightmares. You listen to every dumb thought in my head.” His voice grew gentler. “You don’t suddenly stop being important because you’re struggling.”

Her throat tightened visibly.

Long distance had made them good at reading tiny expressions. Little pauses. The shift in someone’s breathing through a microphone.

He could tell she was trying very hard not to cry again.

“Can I show you something?” he asked suddenly.

Her brow furrowed slightly. “What?”

He disappeared offscreen for a moment before returning with a stuffed animal she’d mailed him months ago after a particularly rough week.

“You still sleep with that?” she asked quietly.

“Every night.”

A tiny smile touched her lips.

He hugged it dramatically against his chest. “It smells like your perfume a little.”

“You are unbelievably clingy.”

“And whose fault is that?”

That earned a soft laugh from her.

Victory.

He relaxed further against his pillow, watching some life slowly return to her expression.

“There’s my girl,” he murmured warmly.

Her eyes softened instantly at the praise.

“Missed hearing that?” he teased gently.

“Maybe.”

“Poor thing.”

She rolled her eyes again, though this one held actual amusement.

The call settled into something quieter after that.

Comfortable.

He told her random stories to keep her talking — embarrassing moments from work, weird things he saw online, dumb little observations from his day.

And slowly, little by little, she unfolded.

Not completely.

But enough.

Enough to laugh softly when he made a terrible joke.

Enough to tease him for the way he dramatically complained about laundry.

Enough to look less alone.

Eventually she curled deeper beneath her blanket and whispered, “I wish you were here.”

The words came out so small his chest ached.

“I know.” He swallowed hard. “Me too.”

Because if he were there physically, he’d already be wrapped around her by now. Playing with her hair. Kissing her forehead. Reminding her she didn’t need to carry everything by herself.

Instead all he could do was stay.

So he did.

“You know what I think?” he said quietly.

“What?”

“I think you forget people can love you when you’re not being strong.”

Her eyes shimmered slightly again.

“You don’t have to perform for me,” he continued softly. “Not tonight.”

She stared at him through the screen for a long moment before finally whispering, “You’re really good at this.”

“At taking care of you?”

“Mhm.”

He smiled gently. “Learned from the best.”

That finally broke the last of her composure.

Not in a dramatic way.

Just a quiet, exhausted little cry she clearly tried to hide by turning her face into her pillow.

Immediately his voice softened further.

“Hey. Hey, c’mere.”

“That doesn’t work over the phone,” she mumbled shakily.

“Pretend.”

She hesitated before moving closer to the screen until her face nearly filled it.

“There,” he whispered. “Good girl.”

The praise hit her instantly.

He watched her eyes close briefly as she exhaled.

“That’s it,” he murmured. “Lemme take care of you tonight.”

And for once, she let herself be held the only way distance allowed.

She wasn’t supposed to like him this quickly.

That wasn’t how she worked.

She observed first. Measured. Took her time deciding what someone was worth to her before she gave even an inch of attention that mattered.

But he was… different.

Not loud. Not trying too hard. Not playing games she’d already learned how to win.

He just showed up.

Consistently. Gently. Like he didn’t realize how rare that was.

And that was exactly the problem.

Because she’d seen this before.

Not him—just the pattern.

People who felt steady at first… and then disappeared without warning. No explanation. No shift you could prepare for. Just gone, like they were never really there at all.

She hated that more than anything.

So when his message came in

“I liked talking to you today.”

she didn’t answer right away.

Not because she didn’t feel it.

Because she did.

Too much.

Her fingers hovered over the screen before she finally replied.

“You’re getting comfortable.”

There was a pause.

Then: “Is that a bad thing?”

She leaned back slightly, exhaling through her nose. He sounded genuine. That was the dangerous part.

“It can be,” she said. “Depends on what you do with it.”

Another pause. Longer this time.

“…I don’t plan on going anywhere, if that’s what you mean.”

Her jaw tightened just a little.

There it was. The line people always said. The one that was so easy to believe in the moment.

She didn’t let herself soften.

“People don’t plan to leave,” she replied. “They just do.”

He didn’t respond immediately.

For a second, she wondered if she’d pushed too far if maybe she’d misread him entirely.

Then..

“I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Her eyes lingered on the message.

To you.

Not in general. Not some vague promise.

To you.

“…You don’t know me well enough to say that yet,” she typed.

“Then let me.”

That made her pause.

Really pause.

Because there wasn’t any pressure in it. No defensiveness. No rush to prove himself.

Just… quiet intent.

Her guard didn’t drop but it shifted.

Slightly.

“You say that now,” she replied, slower this time. “But I don’t deal well with inconsistency.”

“I can tell.”

That caught her off guard.

Her eyes narrowed just a little. “Can you?”

“Yeah,” he said. “You pay attention to everything. You wouldn’t if it didn’t matter to you.”

That hit closer than she expected.

She looked down at her screen, thumb brushing the edge of it.

“…I don’t like investing in people who disappear,” she admitted.

There it was. Bare, but controlled. She didn’t overexplain it. Didn’t soften it.

She just… told the truth.

His reply came quicker this time.

“Then don’t chase me.”

She stilled.

“What?”

“Let me be the one who shows you I’m staying.”

Her breath caught, just slightly.

Because that was exactly what she needed.

And exactly what she didn’t trust.

“…And if you don’t?” she asked, quieter now.

A few seconds passed.

“I will,” he said.

Simple.

No overpromising. No dramatic reassurance.

Just steady.

She stared at the message for a long moment before responding.

“…We’ll see.”

But her tone had changed.

Softer. Warmer.

More careful.

Because despite everything..

She was already starting to want him to prove it.

The message came softer than usual.

Not rushed. Not messy. Just… quiet.

“Goodnight, mommy.”

She read it once.

Then again.

Her expression didn’t change, but something in her attention sharpened. Not surprise. Not exactly. More like confirmation.

So that’s where he was.

She didn’t answer right away.

Seconds passed. Then a full minute. Long enough for him to feel it. Long enough for him to reread what he sent and realize… oh.

The typing bubble flickered once.

Stopped.

Came back.

“Sorry… I didn’t mean to…”

That’s when she responded.

“Don’t.”

It was immediate. Clean. No softness in it, just enough control to stop him from unraveling.

A pause.

Then:

“Don’t rush to take it back just because you felt it.”

The typing bubble froze.

She could almost feel the shift on the other side of the screen. Him sitting up a little straighter, attention narrowing, waiting.

Good.

Now she had him exactly where she wanted him. Aware.

“That wasn’t an accident,” she continued. “You don’t just slip into something like that without it meaning something underneath.”

A longer pause this time.

“…I didn’t think about it,” he admitted.

“I know.”

Her reply came slower now, more measured.

“That’s the part I’m paying attention to.”

Silence stretched between them, but it wasn’t empty. It was full of thought, of him trying to understand what he’d just done, what she was seeing that he hadn’t even put into words yet.

She let him sit in it.

Then:

“If you’re going to call me that,” she typed, “you don’t do it casually.”

There it was.

Not rejection.

Not indulgence.

Structure.

The typing bubble came back, hesitant this time.

“…what do you mean?”

Her lips curved slightly.

Of course he asked.

“It means you don’t use it just because it feels good in the moment,” she said. “You use it when you understand what comes with it.”

A pause.

“And when you’re ready to act like it matters.”

Another stretch of silence. She didn’t fill it. He needed to reach for this part himself.

“…I think it does matter,” he said finally.

Not confident. But not empty either.

She considered that.

Then answered:

“Thinking isn’t enough.”

A beat.

“You show me.”

The words landed heavier than anything she’d said so far.

Because now it wasn’t about what he felt, it was about what he would do with it.

The typing bubble blinked faster now.

“…how?”

There it was.

That quiet willingness.

She didn’t soften, but she didn’t shut him down either.

“You start small,” she said. “You pay attention. You listen the first time I say something instead of the third.”

Another message followed before he could overthink it.

“You keep yourself together when I’m not here instead of getting restless.”

And then, just slightly quieter:

“You earn the right to say it again.”

The pause that followed was longer than any before it.

Not confusion this time.

Processing.

“…okay,” he finally replied.

Simple. Grounded.

She read it once, then set her phone down for a moment, letting the silence stretch just a little longer, not as distance, but as weight.

When she picked it back up, her final message for the night was softer, but still unmistakably hers.

“Goodnight.”

A second passed.

Then:

“And since you’ve already said it once…”

A pause.

“…I’ll allow it.”

His typing bubble appeared instantly, but she didn’t wait to read it.

She’d already given him exactly what he needed.

Not the word.

The meaning behind it.

Her phone lit up quietly against the desk, pulling her attention away for just a second.

She already knew who it was.

They had only met a couple of days ago, just a handful of conversations that somehow stretched late into the night, easy and natural in a way that lingered even after they stopped talking. It was new… but not shallow.

She glanced at the message.

“I know you’re busy… but I kinda miss talking to you.”

Her expression softened immediately.

There was no pressure in it. No demand. Just something honest, a little vulnerable and that was what made her pause.

She didn’t answer right away, not out of strategy this time, but because she was in the middle of something. Still, his message stayed in the back of her mind, warm and persistent.

A few minutes later, another text came through.

“You don’t have to respond right now. I just wanted to say it.”

That made her smile.

She picked up her phone then, finally typing back.

“Hey… I saw your messages.”

The reply came almost instantly, like he’d been watching the screen.

“Hi…”

There was something tentative about it now, like he wasn’t sure where he stood.

She leaned back in her chair slightly, her tone gentle as she typed.

“You miss talking to me already?”

A pause.

“…yeah. I didn’t expect to, but I do.”

Honest again.

She exhaled softly, something warmer settling into her chest.

“That’s not a bad thing.”

Another pause.

“…it’s not?”

She shook her head, even though he couldn’t see her.

“No. It just means you felt something real when we talked.”

The typing bubble flickered, disappeared, then came back.

“…I did.”

Her smile deepened just a little.

She shifted slightly, soft but steady now something naturally grounding in her tone.

“But you also need to remember… I won’t always be available right away.”

“I know… I didn’t want to bother you.”

“You’re not bothering me,” she replied gently. “You’re just learning me.”

That seemed to land. She could feel the shift, the way his energy settled instead of pulling back.

After a second, he replied:

“…okay. I can do that.”

She nodded to herself.

“Good.