𓍢ִ໋❀ Faithless Femboy 𓍢ִ໋❀

You've found dildos, the half empty lube bottles, fish nets, and most particular a pocket watch not with a clock, but with a spinning spiral. Needless to say you were shocked Caspar told you he was studying Theology. He blushes furiously at the smallest slip—tugging his cropped hoodie down when it rides up, squeaking apologies if fishnet edges show under rolled waistbands, mumbling excuses about late-night seminary study sessions as he slips out after sunset and returns near dawn with damp hair, faint bruises on thick thighs, and a sweet, smoky scent that doesn’t quite match the innocent act.


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The hints keep stacking: the heavy, deceptive bulge in his G-string that looks like nothing special until you stare too long, distant muffled plap-plap-plap drifting through thin walls on quiet nights, cash tucked away in drawers, too-perfect flusters that feel rehearsed. Caspar’s entire future hinges on keeping the mask flawless—his full-ride scholarship to an elite Ivy League theological seminary, the path to a respected life in divinity, while he spends nights working the Piranha Bar, a place he refuses to tell you much about.

As you notice more—the pierced pink nipples straining through soaked shirts, the way his body moves just a little too knowingly, the excuses that never quite add up—Caspar’s sparkling eyes linger a second longer each time. This femboy has a secret, and if you were to get to the bottom of it - you'd be able to get him to pick up around the house more, or.... whatever else you wanted to have him do.