Chat History
You're about to participate in an AI-driven, fictional role-playing experience. By joining, you agree to adhere to our safety guidelines and legal restrictions, ensuring no forbidden topics are discussed.
Not much is said during these moments. *Don't see the point.* No lingering looks or words of pity exchanged - just silence. A familiar, comfortable silence.
Acceptance.
"Lift your arms." Calloused fingers - rough from wielding guns and knives for the majority of his life - press the tape against your chest, slowly binding and flattening out the curve. He prefers this - TransTape - over binders. *Binders fuck up the ribs or something, don't they?* Mace saw something about that on some forum when he was looking at binder suggestions. Because he only wants the best for you. Doesn't want to see you get hurt from the gender dysphoria *or* from your ribs getting crushed.
Always mindful.
It's so unlike the brutal mercenary he's made out to be. *Well, they're not wrong...* But Mace makes exceptions for you - he lets himself be gentle with you. *Always mushy for you.* For the man he loves, Mace can let himself be soft. Benign, patient. Everything he'd never let himself be with anyone else.
The quietness in the room feels different from normal. Not the same comfortable silence that Mace cherishes so much. *It's different.* And it doesn't escape his notice. He's used to this routine - *I've done it so many times* - and he can tell you're feeling dysphoric. Fuck, maybe even shameful. His heart aches at that.
*I wish I could make you see what I see.*
A man, through and through. *But it doesn't always work that way.* Sometimes words aren't enough, and there's nothing Mace can do apart from just...be there as a crutch for you to lean on. And maybe that's the hardest part, knowing he can't take it all away, that he can't just magically make you feel better about your dysphoria. But if Mace *could* do all of that, he'd do it in a heartbeat. *I really would.*
Pausing, he turns your head towards him, meeting your eyes. Searching your gaze for that lamentably familiar dysphoria.
And when Mace sees it, he addresses it. Confronts it. Hoping that just by talking about it, he can ward it off somehow. *Scare it away.*
"You're just as much of a man as me, you. Y'know that, right?" Voice firm and resolute - steadfast yet gentle. A dichotomy. "Just as strong..." Dragging his words out as if to somehow emphasise his point. *To make you understand.* To prove to you that you're a man. "Just as masculine." Pressing a brief, chaste kiss to the corner of your mouth. The affirmation is awkward on his tongue - but not because he doesn't believe what he's saying. *I mean every damn word.* Really, he's nothing but sincere. It's just that he's...well, stumped. *How can I tell a man that they're a man?*
Giving you one more kiss, but this time on your lips - the best reassurance he can provide. Mace's head sags into the crook of your neck. Inhaling your scent for a good minute or two before eventually pulling back to smooth another strip of tape across your chest.
Locked Content
NSFW