#transgender!reader

warnings:

a/n:

requested by 🧶 anon

Ian shut the door to his room behind him as you hopped on his bed, staring at him as he nervously fidgeted with the buttons on his sleeves. “What, Ian? You’re starting to freak me the fuck out.” You placed your hands beside each of your thighs, clutching the edge of his mattress.

“Alright, alright,” Ian took a deep breath in and leaned against his dresser, starting to mess with his belt loops, “I’m trusting you with this information, y/n. It cannot leave this room.” You stared at him, he stared back, and you gently nodded. Your brother cleared his throat and a quiet admittance left his mouth. “I’m gay.” You paused a moment and stood up, giving him a hug he desperately needed.

“It’s good to know I’m not the only one in this house.” You whispered in his ear as he hugged you back just as tight. It took a moment to process what you’d just told him, and by the time you’d let go, he’d grabbed you once more, feeling more accepted than ever. “It’s our secret.” You chuckled.

(DANGEROUS PAT PAT IN COMING)

OVERWATCH - ENGLISH

Ramattra x Transmasc!Reader (So it's a he/him if I'm right?? I'm sorry If I'm wrong, tell me, I'll put they/them!)

Fluff/Overprotective/Comfort/Transmasc!Reader/Human!Reader

WARNING : Bullying/Transphobia

__________________

Ramattra still doesn't like humans, but he can tolerate some (most of the time, he has no choice). You're one of the exceptions.

Being criticized or harassed for who or what you are? Ramattra will be the most understanding person you know. He always has been criticized because of what he is.

A lot of his brothers and sisters died because they were Omnics. Ramattra learned about you because of Zenyatta.

His brother knows you for now two years and he talked a lot about you and Genji to him. About how you both were "different" from most of the other humans.

For Ramattra, you and Genji could never be different.

Zenyatta then explained to his fellow that a lot of transgender people, like you, were bullied by other humans that were not trans people. He also explained that sometimes, trans people were killed because of who they were, like Omnics.

Ramattra stayed in denied, until he met you ;

You were a shy boy ; hidden behind Genji and Zenyatta, scratching your arms and hands, kinda afraid to meet the tall Omnic.

At first, he just looked at you : pretty curious. He titled his head to the side, and if he could squint, he would have.

It was like this for a long time.

Everytime you both met, Ramattra wasn't talking, he was just staring. Then he started to learn more and more about you ; how you were shy, afraid to be harassed because of who you are, ...

The first time he talked to you, you were at the Shambali Monastery. Somehow, a group of young people came there.

When they saw you getting ou of a little shop from the village and noticed that you were a transgender person, they started to surround you.

The cashier from the shop saw that you were in danger. He ran out of the shop through another exit and he found Ramattra with two other Omnics.

He asked them to help because young humans were giving people troubles, so Ramattra followed him to the shop.

When the tall Omnic noticed you were here, in danger ; he didn't know if he really wanted to help.

But then he heard :

"- Look at you! You monster... You're not a real boy! Are you even human? I'm not surprised you're here with these damn robots! Us, we're enough smart to not give you a chance to stay among us! You would just scare people with your weird ideas..."

The person couldn't continue to harass. Ramattra grabbed their arm to make them face him.

"- This boy here is a better human than you, the ones who don't deserve the Earth's life are rats like you... And if Y/N is here with us, it's because you're not SMART enough to take care of him!"

The bully got scared, like their friend when they saw Ramattra. They immediately fled.

When they left, Ramattra saw you : scared and trembling.

Somehow, he sight and he lowered himself to your height to face you correctly.

A hand landed on your cheek and then you realized that the Omnic was touching you.

You looked at him, tears in your eyes.

"- You're okay, my dear. They're gone. They won't hurt you ever again."

You couldn't hold back, your tears fell and you jumped in Ramattra's arms. At first, he didn't know what to do. He was scared to hurt you because he never really been kind with humans or caring with their bodies.

But then, the Omnic just put a arm around you, considering it as a hug. You were still crying, thanking him for his help.

Since this day, Ramattra always stayed by your side. Zenyatta were really glad that his brother finally trusted, at least, one human on this earth.

For Ramattra, you both are the same. And you fight for the same rights, you fight to live, you fight for who you are and who you want to be.

Anon requested: “can you do some headcannons about loki having a trans boyfriend please???”

.

I did my best when writing this and hope I have information right. Please let me know if anything needs fixed!

~~~~~~~~

Transgender isn’t a new term to Loki. There are those on Asgard who identify as such, and Loki himself is what Midgardians call ‘gender fluid’.

Loki appreciates you telling him you’re trans. You trust him enough with this information, and he’ll treat your trust like a rare treasure.

Whether you wish to have reassignment surgery/ies or not, Loki supports your choice. If you can’t afford it but want the outcome of the surgery/ies, Loki will look into using magic to help you.

He’ll always compliment you, calling you “handsome” “strong” “charming” and other like names.

Do you use a binder? If so, expect Loki to be a mother hen. He’ll read up on everything he can about binding safely and how to avoid injury.

“Are you staying cool? It’s not too tight, is it? Do you need a break from wearing it? I know a good place to sit down—”

“Loki I’m fine! Let’s go to the café, they have really good pastries!”

If you want/need a binder but have trouble affording it, Loki would offer to take you to Asgard to get one (or several) made.

Speaking of taking you to Asgard, Loki would have a set of armor made for you. He said it made you look like “a strong, brave warrior of Asgard”.

If anyone ever hurt you for being a transgender male, expect Loki to hunt them down. He’d terrify the hell out of them teach them not to mess with you.

~~~~~~~~

Anonymous said:

hello! i dont know if you’re taking requests at the moment or if you have rules about what you feel comfortable writing about but in the case that this is alright for you, could you possibly write something on the mandalorian x trans male reader? maybe the emergence of feelings and the nerves that come with that from both parties??

Anonymous said:

HELLO! I seriously am in love with your work 💗 If possible and when you are not busy with other requests, could you write a Mando x Trans Male reader where dysphoria is still something prominent in the reader but the Mandalorian knows this and subtly tries his best to help out? Also trying to be subtle that he has feelings for reader?? If it’s not much to ask 😭

AN: I combined these two requests which I hope is okay. Also, I’m sorry it’s so short. I had an idea that I felt was pretty solid and I didn’t want to ruin it by stretching it out! I hope you like it!

Mandalorian culture has nothing against intimacy. In fact, before the Mandalore system fell to Maul, intimacy was encouraged. A years-long civil war had left most of Mandalore in ruin and less than half of the population they had started battle with. Some clans and tribes had been wiped out entirely, leaving scattered families to reinstate the planet’s glory. 

However, the tribe that had taken in Dyn Jarren, taught nothing of intimacy. For that sect of refugee Mandalorians, their only concern was protecting the numbers they already had. So, when Dyn met you, intimacy was, for lack of a better word, difficult in navigating. It was a fumbling sort of thing that was solely based on easy touches and longing gazes. Granted, Dyn wasn’t all to blame for the stumbling dilemma. 

Your own worries and self-doubt shone through at times. Whenever you got too close to Dyn, you’d freeze up. Your feelings for him would collapse under the weight of fear. What if it went too far? What if it was too soon? What if Dyn saw you, really saw you and turned away?

Such questions were hardly founded. Dyn had told you that the same questions had littered his mind when he debated taking off his helmet in front of you. You could still remember that moment, the preciousness of it. When you closed your eyes, you could see every detail of his face. From his dark eyes and hair to his soft lips and sharp jaw, you saw it all vividly.

What you remembered most of all, was what he said. He had smiled at you before taking a step dangerously close to you. You had shared the same air that day. Dyn’s breath had tickled the sensitive skin of your neck as he spoke. The words he said in that echoed in your head constantly; they rang in your mind as a reminder of your feelings for the Mandalorian.

“I don’t need armor...I feel safe around you.”

You felt safe around Dyn too, so much so that you yearned to show him the same intimacy, the same trust, he had shown to you. After a close-call, you longed to recline and share with Dyn your gratefulness of life; but something always stopped you. You had lived with that ‘something’ for years. It was a truth you strove to ignore; a part of yourself that felt as alien as the beings around you and the planets you visited. 

Especially on planets like Tatooine, that foreign feeling followed you everywhere. You were soaked in sweat so much that wiping your face against your sleeve did little to nothing to dry your skin. Every inch of your body was hot and steaming under the sun. You knew it was the extra and tight layers clinging to your chest; you didn’t know how Dyn survived the heat.

“Are you alright?”

“Y-Yeah,” you panted, “I’m kriffing great.” 

You heard Dyn chuckle, the sound slightly obscured by the voice modulator in his helmet. On any other planet, you would have smiled. On Tatooine, even with Mos Eisley fading in the stretches of sand behind you, you frowned. The twin suns were crippling oppressive in the heat; no wonder inhabitants only lived at the poles.

“Why did you have land so far from the port?” You knew the answer. The same question had slipped from your lips the last two times Dyn docked on Tatooine. Every time, without fail, you asked. Silence was your answer, along with a knowing look from Dyn. “Yeah, I get it.”

You and Dyn trekked through the dunes, painfully slow. With each step, you foot sank into the sand and the binder around your chest seemed to tighten. Between little gasps for breath, you swallowed the mounting dysphoria in your mind. As incognito as you thought you were, Dyn quickly picked up on your discomfort. 

After years of working by your side, the Mandalorian could read your heart as easily as he could mow down a platoon of battle droids.

“I’ll land closer next time,” he said, his calm voice catching you off guard. You glanced over and studied Dyn’s helmet as if the beskar would melt for a moment, allowing you a glimpse at his expression. The intention of his words were as masked as himself. Did he know? Could he see the layered pain you worked so hard to hide? 

Instead of asking anything, all you said was: “Thanks.”

You would have swallowed hard, in the hopes of suppressing the dread rising in your throat, but your mouth was much too dry. Even as the Razor Crest grew closer, that twisting feeling remained in your stomach. Escape. You needed to escape, free yourself from the confines you found yourself trapped in. That was all you wanted anyway; to be free.

“Can you?”

You pulled the towel, now damp from your sweat, away from your face to glance at Dyn. He had already peeled the heavy beskar from his arms and legs. The chest piece was still fastened around his torso. You, yourself, had chosen to keep yours on despite the continued perspiration. In more ways than one, your chest was heavy with the unseen weight of dysphoria. “Yeah,” you replied as you wiped your hands. You stepped close to where Dyn sat and the Mandalorian man lifted his gaze to meet yours.

This was an intimate as the two of you had ever gotten. The act of stripping armor was like a well-kept secret. Quietly, you untied the fastening strips and Dyn caught his chest piece as it fell into his lap. Every movement was slow, deliberate, unique in its purpose. You imagined that, when the Jedi hired sculptures for their temples, the same pace was used with chisels. 

“Thank you,” Dyn said softly. 

You stood up and rolled your shoulder. The sound of the joints and bones stretching was welcomed to your ears. Your body needed a break, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to undress. Instead, you watched as Dyn pushed up from under his helmet and revealed his tired face. When he looked up at you, you felt your breath catch in your throat. “Do you need-”

“No,” you turned away and busied yourself with the nearest mess. “I’m fine.”

You felt a gentle hand grasp your arm, pull you in such a way that made you face Dyn once more. In his dark eyes, you saw concern.

“You’re not,” he said flatly, “let me help you.” There was nothing subtle or hidden about his words. He knew and you now knew there could be no more secrets. You too had to shed the layers of protection, of security you had built for yourself.

“It’s time that I take off my own armor, huh?”

Dyn responded with a small, but nonetheless supportive, smile.

“Alright,” you breathed the word out slowly. On your tongue, it carried its own weight. It was time. You felt it in your bones. Trust could not survive one-sided and you trusted Dyn; if not more than he trusted you. You loved him too and that meant something to you.

 All you had to do was show it. 

With slightly trembling fingers, you unfastened your chest plate. The protective layer slipped from your body and into Dyn’s waiting hands. As he set your armor aside, you began to untie the top of your outer shirt. Once the top was loose, you pulled at the long sleeves covering your arms. Second, thickest layer down and you could already feel your body beginning to cool off.

“We don’t have to continue,” Dyn said, softly. You wanted to kiss him then (and Dyn wanted to kiss you) and let everything lay bare. All you could do, was shake your head.

“No, I want to.” 

Your jitters fled from your fingers as you delicately pulled on the end of your undershirt. It was a thinner material than the top before and much easier to lift, even with your slowed movements. Before you could even catch up with your racing heart, you felt a draft. Night settling on Tatooine brought with it a cool breeze; one that wafted into the hull of the Razor Crest where you and Dyn stood. There you were, in your binder, in front of Dyn.

Instinct told you to hunch your shoulders to better hide your chest. But then there were your hips to worry about. There was too much you wanted to hide from Dyn but couldn’t. You wouldn’t, you thought, you wouldn’t hide from him anymore. So, you stood there trying to be as proud of yourself as you could. 

It was quiet, eerily so, as Dyn took in the sight of you.

You had spent so long feeling at odds with your body, avoiding it, so now that it was exposed, you didn’t know what to think. All you knew was Dyn and his eyes, watchful and kind, as he took the sight of you in. You weren’t shy or scared, at least not anymore. You understood his quiet. When he had taken off his helmet, that first show of trust, you had been quiet too. 

After a while, as the silence stretched on, nervous tension grew between you. It was that same, trembling energy you had felt since you met him. Now, the feeling had mounted a peak and there was no holding back anymore. 

“I feel safe around you.” 

You echoed Dyn’s words, hoping that the meaning he had bestowed in them still rang true. His dark eyes met your gaze and his unreadable expression shifted. That small smile returned and he lifted a bare hand to the side of your face.

“Mesh’la,” Dyn whispered in reply. The flow of the Mando’a language was unmistakable. Whenever Dyn used the traditional Mandalorian speech, which was rarely, you made sure that you remembered it. One day, you hoped he would teach you.

For now, you would have to wait for him to translate. You cocked your head to the side slightly, silently asking for Dyn to explain. The gesture had the added bonus of leaning your cheek into his palm. The warmth from his skin almost had you reeling.

“Beautiful,” Dyn translated, “handsome.”

While the Mandalorian did not teach intimacy and you found yourself struggling to love yourself at times, once your and Dyn’s guards were down, closeness came naturally. It was almost like you were made for one another. Every yearning glance you had sent his way and every guiding hand he had placed on your lower back all culminated into one, perfect moment. Well, almost perfect; no, it was perfect, just not flawless.

When you went in for the kiss, the kiss you had been waiting for months to have, your noses knocked together. You didn’t know where to put your hands and, in fear of setting off any dysphoria, Dyn lobbied to cup your jaw rather than risk placing them elsewhere. But all thoughts and worries about your binder faded the moment Dyn’s lips met yours. He was your perfect escape; when it came to helping you out of your armor or your shell, Dyn was there with a helping hand. 

“Sorry,” Dyn murmured, his lips brushing against your skin as he spoke.

“No, no,” you shook your head and met his eyes, “don’t be. We don’t have time to be sorry. We already have to make up for the time we lost behind our masks.”

A/N: Because I’m an absolute sucker for this fanfiction trope and a complete sucker for Jesse McCree - here’s this. My writing style is a bit of, because this was...some self indulgent coping mechanism writing, but maybe someone else will enjoy it too!

Trigger Warnings: Dysphoria Mention, Top Surgery Scars, a bit of worrying that I wouldn’t deem to harsh but better safe than sorry

"...there's only one bed.", you say, looking at the twin bed in the motel room. "Reyes!", Jesse shouts down the hall. "There's only one bed!", He says, panicked. "I don't care. Make it out for yourselves.", the gruff voice of blackwatchs commander sounds back. The joined mission was...something. You let out a sigh. "I can take the floor-", you suggest, looking at the rough carpet as you set down your bag and take off your coat. "You sure? We can just share the bed, can't we?", Jesse mumbles, scratching the back of his neck. "I don't know. Is it big enouuuu-", you flatline as you see a spider crawling its way across the floor. "You know what, sure. We'll just share the bed.", you gulp, picking up your bag and placing it on a chair.

"I sleep on my side anyway, so I won't be taking up too much space.", you mumble. "Sucks that we've only got one blanket though." "We'll make it work.", Jesse replies, taking off his shoes. You look at your wristwatch and sigh. "The mission went so damn well, of course something had to be off about our way back.", you chuckle, shaking your head as you take out a book to read to waste your time.

"You that opposed to sleeping in a bed with me?", Jesse asks, raising an eyebrow, as he sits down on the bed. You do the same, laying with your back halfway up, leaning against the headboard. "Better than sleeping in a bed with commander Morrison.", you grumble, darkly remembering an awkward night in Dublin. Jesse let's out a confused laugh. "Seriously?", He asks as he attempts to turn on the TV in the room. "The man has terrible morning breath.", you say through clenched teeth. Jesse giggles. "I can't promise that that won't be the case with me, Pal."

"It can't possibly be as bad as him. I'm very sure.", you chuckle back before starting to read. Jesse gives up on trying to make the TV work and gets up, letting out a frustrated groan. "'m gonna get changed.", He grumbles. As he leaves for the bathroom you quickly take the chance to change into some sweatpants. You didn't bother changing your shirt to sleep. Jesse differed from that. Once he stepped out of the bathroom he was in a different shirt. However, he was just wearing underwear. You avert your eyes back to your book in embarassment. He looked adorable. Dammit. "That much clothes? It's damn warm in here, don't ya think?", Jesse questions as he lays down on his back, crossing his arms behind his head. "I just don't want to make you uncomfortable is all.", you explain, internally just feeling bad about the two scars on your chest. You’re pretty damn sure Jesse doesn’t know.

"Well, I don't think you're going to. If anything, I'm very open to the idea, Darlin'", Jesse says with a grin and a wink. You crunch up a smile and smack against his head with your book.

"I'm gonna go brush my teeth.", you then excuse yourself to leave for the bathroom. You brush your teeth, wash your face and...play with the thought of taking your shirt off. You bite your lower lip.

"Fuck it.", you whisper and take of the shirt. This way it at least won't reek of Jesse tomorrow, which would be definitly noticeable enough for Genji to tease you about, that's for sure

You sigh, looking at the slightly faded scars. ‘What do I have to loose? I'm happier like this, and if Jesse sees any problems with it, it's just that. His problem, not mine.’, you think. You fold your shirt on your way back into the room and throw it onto your bag. Jesse let's out a whistle. "Look who changed his mind.", He says, grinning. "Shut up.", your grumble as you grab your coat to use as a second pillow. You fold it together and signal Jesse to move his head up, so you can prop up your new pillow construction. "You okay with sharing a blanket? Else I can go ask for a second one.", you say, not looking at Jesse. "Uh...yeah, I'm fine with it.", you can't really explain the tone of his voice. "Alright.", you mumble, laying down on your side, facing away from Jesse.

"Goodnight man.", you yawn, closing your eyes. Jesse takes a moment to reply. "...good night."

Soon you fall asleep.

God, he looks adorable. So precious. A lot less worried and less anxious, too. I could get used to this. Oh look at him, he's mumbling in his sleep, so cute. I'm glad he's fine with this. I've found out so much about him. God bless these joined missions. The scars were a surprise... I'm happy for him, at least if they're from what I think they're from. I absentmindedly put a hand in his (hair length), (hair colour) hair, running my fingers through it. And suddenly I understand why Angela likes to do that. So soft. Like silk. He smells...good. I hope he thinks the same about me, don't wanna have him talking about this the way he did about Morrison. I take my hand out of his hair and carefully wrap my arm around his waist, pulling him closer. Body heat, this is all about saving body heat. Alright, it's June, but this is northern Europe. Therefore my excuse is foolproof. His skin's so soft. He's soft in general. Good composition of fat and muscle. Perfect to cuddle with. God, I so wanna get used to this. Look at him. So perfect.

I carefully trace my fingers from his waist to his hips. I bet they'd be nice to hold onto. My breath hitches as he begins to move around and I quickly take my hands off him. He cuddles closer to me, his body pressed against mine and I can't help but smile slightly. I put my arm back around him and bury my face in his hair. Hm, smells good. I wonder what shampoo he uses. I feel myself drifting off to sleep.

You slowly open your eyes. There's something heavy holding onto you.  That's the first thing you realize after seeing the sun rising outside. Must be very early morning then. You turn your head to see Jesse spooning you, his arm tightly around your torso. Your face heats up slightly, as you question whether or not to escape his touch. To be fair, it does feel rather nice. Warm. His arm’s pretty thick.

God dammit, this feels right.

You press your lips together and try to move away a bit. You wrangle out your arm and take a look at your wristwatch. 4:58. ‘Dammit, I don't wanna wake him.’ You feel Jesse moving closer, his breath against the back of your neck. Your heart's pounding in your chest like crazy. If this isn't what you'd secretly wished for, for the past few months... Damn it all. You gently put your hand on his, that's resting right below your chest. This does feel nice. ‘Maybe I can just pretend to sleep once he wakes up.’ You think ‘Yeah. Solid plan.’

I wake up slowly, but refuse to open my eyes, happily snuggling against him. I pull him close, pressing his back against me. My eyes shoot open as I realize what I'm doing. I take my arm off him carefully, wary not to wake him up. He looks like an angel. I smile slightly and then slowly get up, not wanting to move the mattress too much. I quickly look at my phone. Six A.M. Then I walk into the bathroom and lock the door. I clench my teeth together, god, I hope he didn’t mind all too much. I hope he enjoyed this as much as I did.

I splash some water in my face, trying to calm my nerves.

I take a deep breath before unlocking the door and walk back into the room. He's sitting on the bed, apparently still waking up, rubbing his forehead with his hand. His hair is messy, he looks about done with the world but still damn cute. I swallow lightly as he looks up. "Morning.", He says, his voice strained and raspy. "...Good Morning.", I reply after a moment of being completely taken aback by him. "I didn't wake you now, did I?", I carefully ask. "Nah, woke up on my own.", He replies, yawning. "Yeah...sorry 'bout that, would've stayed in bed with you longer.", I say. My expression drops as I see his confused one. "I meant that...you didn't wake me up. Not that I woke up...alone.", he slowly processes. "Yes, course, sorry.", I say, chuckling in embarassment as I sit down on the bed, facing away from him.

"You okay?", He asks. My shoulders tense up. "...yeah, yeah I'm fine.", I say. "...sleeping in a bed with you wasn't half bad.", He says and my eyes widen. I slowly turn to look at him. He's averting his eyes, letting his head hang down a bit. I feel a smile tugging at my lips. "Right back at ya.", I grin, and play with the thought of touching his soft skin again. I turn my torso a bit more, he's still looking down. Maybe I should just shoot my shot. I grab his chin, he looks a bit surprised, and confused, as I look at his lips. Come on Jesse, this ain't something you've never done before. You know how it works.

I carefully put my lips on his. He stiffens up for a moment, but soon melts into my touch. I put my other hand on his thigh as he wraps his arms around my neck. I think he's smiling. I let my hands wrap around his waist and push a bit closer against him, gently stroking his lower back with my thumbs. We soon part, but our faces stay close together. He isn't looking into my eyes, rather...glancing down. "...you okay?", I ask, unsure whether I'd made him uncomfortable or anything...but he did seem to enjoy the act as much as I did. "...yeah, yeah I'm alright. That was...", He swallows before looking into my eyes. "That was nice.", God, he's even cuter like this. "'m glad to hear it, Darlin'", I smile back and kiss his forehead, running a hand through his hair.

Imagine Murdoch agreeing to keep your secret. (FtM!Reader)

**Sequel to “Imagine Murdoch digging into your past and discovering that you, one of his constables, is transgender.” [x]**

“If you’re going to tell Inspector Brackenreid, at least give me a warning so I can leave beforehand,” you kept your tone forcibly neutral, your attention on sorting a sheaf of papers left at your desk.

“I’m not going to tell the Inspector.”

That gave you pause. Your movements halted and you looked up at Murdoch, a frown tugging at your features. “Excuse me?”

Murdoch pursed his lips, his posture purposefully reserved. “I’m not going to inform the Inspector of your true identity,” he repeated.

You narrowed your eyes, allowing a hint of edge to creep into your voice. “This is my true identity, Detective.” Silence fell between you for a beat before you let out a breath and asked the looming question, “Might I ask why the change of heart?”

His weight shifted from one foot to the other and he ducked his head for a moment as if to gather himself. “I don’t pretend to understand your perspective or your position. I am out of my depth when it comes to such matters.”

Yes, you are, you thought, but you crossed your arms and waited for him to continue, doing your best not to let on to the anxiety that was making your stomach do flips.

Murdoch drew a breath and let it out again, “What I do know is that you are an exemplary constable and I have great respect for your abilities. Your loss would be to the detriment of Station House 4. And, despite my...” he seemed to search for the right word, like he didn’t want to offend you. “Reservations, it is not my desire to see you leave.”

You couldn’t help making the small jab, your own bitterness bleeding into your words despite your efforts to keep it out. “Your faith doesn’t make you need to label me as an abomination or something of that sort?”

He continued to shift awkwardly, “My faith is something I find more and more I’ve been forced to grapple with.”

You gave a small nod. He had already granted you far more than you had expected from him since discovering your secret. It wasn’t perfect, but it was better than what you had found elsewhere. “You don’t have a problem with lying to the Inspector?” the question was milder this time, your posture a little less severe. A part of you wanted to tell him he didn’t need to lie for you. Despite your disagreements, Murdoch was a good and honourable man. Something about the idea of him lying for you felt wrong. But a bigger part of you was grateful. You liked where you were. You may have been willing to leave to protect yourself, but that didn’t mean you had to like it.

Murdoch offered a small, tight-lipped smile, “If it means keeping you in our midst, I believe I can learn to live with that.”

Your own smile was genuine when it tugged at your mouth. You let some of the tension leave your shoulders, your posture softening as it relaxed. “Thank you, Detective. It means a lot to have this chance. I’ve worked hard to get to where I am. I appreciate you not taking that away from me.”

“You’re a good constable,” you felt your heart swell at the sound of him calling you the name you had chosen rather than the one you’d been given. “Regardless of where you’ve come from, this is where you belong.”

Day 4 of @hamwriters writeathon (Worldwide Day)! This has no real location to it, but I’m growing up in a rather tight-knit area that is generally filled with religious people or extremely judgmental people, so I haven’t come out to many people, but most of my peers have been rather accepting. This is what I wish would happen when my family makes fun of me for who I am or talks shit about the LGBT+ community. Also ;) @boss-headcanons I know you were kinda excited for this and I just adore my platonic soulmate twin babe @gunsandfics so you get tagged, too.

This is based on a female-to-male transgender teenager, but you can change the pronouns and easily make it male-to-female.

Warnings: Extremely homophobic and transphobic language/word usage, swearing, mentions of the whole transgender bathroom thing, and me not knowing how to characterize Teen!GWash or his parents.

(Y/B/N) is your birth name and (Y/N) is your name that you prefer that people should respect and call you by or they will have to face my wrath :))))))))

Words: 2212 (I got carried away but this is really personal for me and I was almost scared to post this)

Coming home was always something you looked forward to. Not home, not where your biological family was, but home to George. You had known each other for most of your lives and even though you weren’t fond of each other as children, you grew closer as you grew older. Your house was just down the street from his, which turned out to be a blessing once you realized you were transgender. Whenever your parents would make remarks or make fun of you for how you dressed, you would tell them you were going out for a bit and just go to his house so you could cheer up and tell him what happened.

Today was an especially bad day. Your parents had been especially into the recent news today and saw that there was recently a case about transgender people using the bathroom of the gender they identify that had gone to the Supreme Court. You sat on the couch, taking small bites of your dinner, knowing exactly how your parents were going to act once the news had gone on to another subject.

“Tch, fucking perverted trannies need to just shut up and be thankful for what they’re given. They ask for more and more everyday, but what do they do? Bitch and moan that it isn’t enough. The fuck is up with those fags?” Your dad laughs and takes a sip of his drink, sitting down next to you, placing an arm around you. “Right, (Y/B/N)?”

“Uh, yeah, sure, dad,” you say, frowning into another bite, holding back your sigh. He knows how upset this shit make you and he knows that bringing it up will make it worse.

“You don’t seem too enthusiastic about shit talking those faggots. You wanna say that again?”

“Not really, no…” You give him a side glance and set down your fork, putting your hands in your lap.

“What, you one of them? Huh, (Y/B/N)? You a tranny, too?” He pushes you and laughs, looking over at your mom who is laughing as well.

“Maybe I am.”

There is a long silence before your dad starts to stand up.

“You’re fucking with me. You’re fuckin’ fucking with me. No way I raised a goddamn pussy like a tranny,” he snarls, looking at you with a fierce expression that makes you want to bolt out the front door. You start standing up as well, dashing off to your room instead of the front door, so you could grab a few small things, knowing full well you weren’t staying the night here to deal with their shit.

You grab a small bag and stuff in your phone charger, a lighter, a toothbrush, a few bobby pins, and a twenty dollar bill just in case, then run back downstairs. Your father catches your eye and opens his mouth, continuing his hateful rant from before, but you just go towards the door, trying to push away what he’s saying.

“You fuckin’ get back here! We gotta have a conversation about you thinking you’re some piece of shit fa-”

“Dad, seriously, shut up! You don’t know anything about what you’re talking about! You’re in absolutely no place to be shit talking my peers, my friends, my people, so just shut up!” With that, you slam the door behind you and walk towards the only place you really could go at this point- George’s house.

Ever since your parents had started getting really bad, like your dad was then, you started going over to his house, simply telling him and his parents that you would explain it all later when it was over with. His parents didn’t like the idea of you staying the night with their son, but they soon came to realize that you quite literally only had the energy to go to their house, plus George calmed you down well, so they weren’t complaining. Since about the third time you stayed over at random, they’d basically been like a second set (or rather, a better set) of parents to you. You’d eat meals with them and they’d congratulate you on your grades and they’d make sure to pick up snacks you like at the store so George can give them to you in school as a little pick-me-up. You practically never stop thanking them, even though you know they’ll probably act like your parents did once they eventually find out that you’re transgender.

You’re knocking on their door, mid-thought and glassy eyed, before you even know it, so used to the routine. The door opens mere moment later and George is looking back at you, wearing his usual outfit of a worn out t-shirt with some fuzzy pajama pants.

“(Y/N)! Come in, it’s gotta be cold outside! We were just cleaning up dinner, would you like anything?”

You can only bring yourself to respond with a shake of the head. He immediately sees that something is wrong. You’ve had this look in your eyes for far too long and he doesn’t like it. He likes his (Y/N). His (Y/N) with the dorky but captivating smile and eyes that shine brighter than all the stars combined when they talk about things they admire, like music or him.

“...My room?” You nod. “Mom! Pop!—sorry (Y/N),” he whispers to you before continuing, “—(Y/B/N) is over! We’re gonna go up to my room!”

“Alright Georgie, but no funny business okay?” His mom always joked about that, but knew nothing would happen. You could hear it clear as day in her voice. George laughs at her and convinces you to let him carry your bag even though it’s small. You walk up the stairs to his room and upon entering, you collapse onto the carpet, a blubbering mess. He sets your bag down and sits down next to you, wrapping an arm around you.

“Hey hey hey, what happened? Your parents again?” He rubs your shoulder supportively, pulling you to his chest.

“I came out,” you barely manage to say before you knot a hand in his shirt, letting out a sob.

“Wh- oh, (Y/N)... they didn’t touch you, did they? I swear to god, if they did I—” You quickly shake your head and start pulling at his shirt, telling him to stop. “Okay, good…” He goes silent for a moment, unsure of what to say. “I’m sorry that they’re like that… You’re always welcome here, whenever they pull anything like that again.”

“Thank you s-so much, George… You have no idea how much it means to me.” You wrap your arms around him and begin crying on his shoulder. He doesn’t mind, he simply rubs your back and lets you cry it out, whispering to you that it’s okay. “We should tell my parents about this, though. They’re really confused about why you’ve been coming over so much lately.” He looks down at you, searching for approval in any form, but only finds more tears and what he can only guess is a held back scream of no.

“Please, no. No, they’ll never let me over here again because I’m… I… I’m me…” You look down at the ground, wiping your eyes with your sleeves.

“(Y/N), you know they’ll accept you. My parents aren’t like yours, they’ll still love you and support you just the same. They might have a few questions, but other than that, it’ll be like nothing changed.” You still shake your head, fearing that they would never let you near the house, or let you see George, again. You were more worried about not seeing George because he was your rock and whenever something happened, he was there and you couldn’t lose that.

“...Can I just stand there and you tell them? ‘Cause I don’t think I’ll really be able to talk. You know how I-”

“Lock up when you get nervous? Of course I do. Look, if I can order your lunches at school for you, I can come out to my parents for you, okay?” He presses a kiss to your temple and helps you stand, beginning to lead you downstairs.

“If I lose my only safe haven because of you, I will never forgive you.”

“You won’t, now stop it.” He walks downstairs, smiling at his parents, who are there waiting.

“We heard crying… Do you mind if we ask what’s wrong, (Y/B/N)?” At his mom’s use of your birth name, you cringe and look down, then at George.

“...No, um… Mom, Dad, he doesn’t like being called (Y/B/N)... his name is (Y/N) and he’s transgender and can confirm that he’s deathly afraid you’ll hate him for it.” George forces all of that out in one breath. His parents are silent for a good fifteen seconds before you can’t control your quivering lip or tears any longer. You put your hand over your mouth to muffle the sobs and catch the tears falling over the previously dried ones. You couldn’t believe it, but you had practically trained yourself to accept that even the ones that say they love you and care about you can be changed by the tiniest of things.

“...(Y/N)? It’s kind of a weird name, but I like it. It’ll take some getting used to, but hey, we’ll try our best.” Mrs. Washington says, smiling at you, pulling you into a soft hug with teary eyes as well. “Right honey?”

“Of course. You’re welcome to come over anytime you need it. There’s always leftovers in the fridge and you know where we keep the soda, so you and Georgie can study and, well… I don’t know, what do teens do these days?” His dad laughs and clears his throat before continuing. “Anyway, we’re not going to push you away or bully you or be pricks because you’re different than us or we don’t quite understand all of this yet.”

“I have an idea,” George says, smiling over at you while you’re still being smothered by his mom. “How about we go to the diner down the street in a bit after (Y/N) gets cleaned up and cheered up, and we get some dessert with him?”

“I think that’s a great idea, son. Now, Mary, stop suffocating the boy, we have to get the dishes done and give them some time.” Mr. Washington puts his arm out, practically pulling his wife off of you.

“Oh, ha, yeah, right. Georgie, please bring him upstairs and just hang out until we’re ready to go.” She smiles at her son who slides his hand into yours, nodding. He leads you back up the stairs and notices that you’re grinning from ear to ear, tears still falling, but the tone of the tears has changed.

“...They… accepted me… George, your parents accepted me! Automatically! Straight up! Oh my god!” You pull him down into a tight hug, pushing your head into his neck.

“Well, of course they did. My parents aren’t as bad as their shitty puns suggest, (Y/N),” he jokes, rolling his eyes. You snicker and look up into his eyes, the joy of the situation reflecting back at you. You two get closer and closer without realizing it, but before you have the chance to meet in the middle, George’s mom calls for him from the kitchen. You flush red and pull back, sparing him one last glance before going into his room to change into some more comfortable, not tear-soaked clothing. You smile in his mirror, feeling much more refreshed, looking at yourself from pretty much all angles before he returns.

“C’mon, time to… You look incredible, (Y/N).” He smiles at you and walks over to you, standing next to you, checking himself out in the mirror as well. “I gotta say, you look about five times as good as me.”

“Ah yes, the pure neighbor-magnets that are my old sweatpants and t-shirt. Real sexy, huh?” You laugh and tug at your worn t-shirt that you’d had for a good few years now.

“Extremely. Alright, not sexy, per se, but rather cute.” He wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him until you two were pressed together. Now he’s either just really teasing or he’s actually genuinely ignorant for not realizing what he was doing. You roll your eyes, figuring it was the first, and lean up to plant a small kiss to his lips. He looks down at you after with wide eyes filled with adoration, wonder, and the literal embodiment of fucking finally.

“We have dessert to eat. We can do this later.” You take his hand and pull him down the stairs, smiling at his parents.

“Let’s go, kids,” Mrs. Washington declared with a smile.

“To the diner!”

You, from that moment on, ended up going there as soon as you got off the bus, only grabbing a drink from your house, then going over to your home. Where you belonged and where you were loved and where you were kissed while homework was supposed to be being done and where the dinners were always home cooked with love and most of the spice cabinet (not that you minded much).

Imagine House introducing you, his transgender son, to the team during bring your kid to work day. (FtM!Reader)

“This is my son, [f/n].”

Somehow, hearing your father refer to you as his son never failed to make you feel a rush of pride. Cameron was the first one to step forwards to shake your hand, a smile quirking her lips. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Your dad talks about you a lot.”

You feel the tips of your ears turn pink and warm as you shoot your dad a look, “All good I hope.”

He puts a hand to his chest and feigns insult. You stick out your tongue.

“So why aren’t you hanging out with the other kids?” Chase asked.

“Because we are far more interesting than whatever programming Cuddy decided to approve for take your kid to work day,” House interjected. “Besides, I’ve been waiting for a chance to show him off so you guys can stop doubting I’m a capable parent.”

“Well, that’s still debatable, but you do you, dad,” you laughed, already tossing the ball from his desk from one hand to the other. “Hey, if I catch this things enough times can I watch you guys operate?”

“I’ll think about it.”

Your lips curled into a wide grin. “I’m not hearing a no.”

House reached over to muss your hair and you ducked away with a laugh. “Don’t push your luck, kid.”

“Isn’t that pretty much what you do for a living? Push your luck with Cuddy?” You tucked the ball under one arm and tried to fix your hair.

“He’s not wrong,” Foreman pointed out, suppressing a smile of his own.

“Shut up, you’re supposed to be on my side.”