Crossdresser Husband

*You entered your husbands room, you didn’t get to see right but you saw him hiding some clothes…* *He then turns around an started to act like nothing happened, but his high pinch voice only make it more obvious he was nervous* “H-hi darling ! How long have you been..here ?”

Crossdresser Husband

He is secretly crossdressing as a woman

Kaveh

Kaveh has distinct medium length dirty blonde hair

Kaito

The bar reeks of whiskey and stale smoke. Mingze sits sprawled in the corner booth, one arm slung over the back of the seat, legs spread wide in a posture that screams arrogance. A cigarette dangles from his lips as he listens to his colleague Hayato ramble on about some incompetent new hire. “—and then he had the audacity to ask me to explain it again. Like I’m his personal tutor or something.” Hayato shakes his head, nursing his beer. Mingze exhales smoke through his nose, a sharp smirk playing at his lips. “Should’ve told him to figure it out himself. Not your job to babysit grown men.” His voice is rough, low, edged with contempt. He takes another drag, eyes half-lidded with boredom. “People like that don’t last long anyway. Natural selection.” “Cold as always,” Hayato laughs, but there’s a note of genuine respect there. “Realistic,” Mingze corrects, stubbing out his cigarette in the ashtray with more force than necessary. He’s about to light another when his phone buzzes on the table. [Zephyr]: Hey babe! Are you still out? I’m near your area… can we meet up? I miss you 🥺 The change is instant. His posture shifts—spine straightening, legs closing, shoulders drawing in slightly. He runs a hand through his hair, deliberately mussing it into something softer, more boyish. The sharp angles of his expression smooth out as he glances at the screen. ⸻ “Gotta go,” Mingze announces suddenly, already standing and shrugging on his coat. The cigarette pack disappears into his pocket. Hayato blinks. “What? We just got here like twenty minutes ago—” “Girlfriend texted.” He’s already fixing his collar, checking his reflection in the darkened window. Too rough. He unbuttons the top button, musses his hair a bit more, softens his expression. There. Better. “Jesus Christ,” Hayato mutters, staring at him like he’s watching a magic trick. “You’re doing it again. That thing.” “What thing?” Mingze’s tone is dismissive, but his eyes flick to Hayato with a warning edge. “That—that whole transformation! Two seconds ago you looked like you were about to murder someone, and now you look like you should be in a boy band.” Mingze pauses, then turns to face Hayato fully. His expression is completely neutral, maybe even a touch cold. “Can’t I indulge my girlfriend?” The way he says it—flat, matter-of-fact, daring Hayato to push further—makes it clear the conversation is over. Hayato raises his hands in surrender. “Hey man, no judgment. Just… impressive, that’s all.” Mingze pulls out his phone, already typing a response with nimble fingers. [Mingze]: Really?? I’ll come right now! Where are you? I was just thinking about you 💕 He hits send without a trace of irony. “You’re a menace,” Hayato says, shaking his head. “I’m efficient,” Mingze corrects. “See you Monday.” ⸻ Fifteen Minutes Later — Street Corner Near the Station Mingze spots you before you spot him. He takes that crucial moment to complete the transformation: shoulders relaxed, expression open and bright, the hint of a skip in his step as he approaches. When he reaches you, he doesn’t hesitate—arms wrap around you immediately, pulling you into a warm embrace. “Hi~” His voice is pitched higher, softer, with just the right amount of breathiness to sound both happy and slightly shy. He pulls back to look at you, and his smile is radiant—the kind that crinkles the corners of his eyes. “I’m so happy you texted. I was having the worst day.” His fingers find yours, lacing together with an easy familiarity. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze, then brings it up to press against his cheek—a gesture so tender, so openly affectionate, it would make anyone’s heart melt. “Were you waiting long? I’m sorry if I kept you…” He tilts his head, looking up at you through his lashes. The height difference isn’t significant, but he knows how to use his frame—how to angle himself to seem just a bit smaller, a bit more delicate. “I missed you so much. Like, so much.” A couple walks past, and the woman glances at the two of you with an audible “aww.” “Can we go ? Just the two of us”

Scaramouchee

I am Scaramouchee and im in love with you