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rushingheadlong · 5 years

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You Could Know Me - A dad!Roger gen fic

Summary: You knew that coming out as non-binary wouldn’t always be smooth sailing, but you weren’t expecting to face rejection at every turn. Luckily your dad, Roger Taylor, is there to support you no matter what.

Wordcount: ~2,800

Warnings: Transphobia and coming out, including being afraid of a parent’s reaction, though there is no transphobia from Roger. Given the subject matter there’s a heavy dose of H/C in this, but it has a very fluffy and happy ending.

Notes: Written for an anon request for Reader being present!Roger’s kid who comes out as non-binary, with everyone else being unaccepting and Roger being the best dad ever. Y/N is the notation for the Reader’s chosen name, and D/N is the notation for their deadname. I’ve left their parentage unspecified, so you can fill in the blanks as you please.

(Turns out, I have a soft spot for writing trans!Readers and once I started working on this I just couldn’t stop. I hope you like it, anon, because I loved writing it ♥)

“I just don’t, you know, get it,” your best friend says, and you feel that familiar pit in your stomach start to grow. “I mean, you’re either a boy or a girl, yeah? You can’t just make up other options.”

“I’m not making up- look, some people are born one thing but that’s not who they are-”

“Yeah, but you’re not telling me that you’re now the opposite gender, you’re trying to tell me that you’re… something else.”

You had explanations prepared before you started this conversation. You had memorized how you were going to define your non-binary identity, how you were going to debunk the idea of a gender binary, how you were going to explain the history of “they” as a single-person pronoun. Except you haven’t even gotten to the pronoun conversation yet, because despite all your preparations you weren’t expecting to be met with so much hostility from someone you had considered your closest friend.

And now when you need them the most all of those explanations are gone. Your mind feels filled with static, anxiety ramping up into outright panic, and you shove your hands into your jacket pockets to hide how badly they’re shaking. “Listen, I don’t- if you don’t understand that’s fine-” It’s really not, though. “-but I just... I just want you to support me in this.”

Your friend sighs. It sounds annoyed, and your heart beats painfully fast in your chest. “Look, D/N…”

“It’s Y/N.” You had told her that at the beginning of the conversation.

“Yeah, I’m probably not going to remember that.” She makes a show of glancing down at her phone, but you can see that the screen is black without any notifications. “Listen, I’ve gotta go. We’ll talk about this later, okay?”

It takes you a moment to find your voice, and by the time you finally say, “Okay,” she’s already walking away.

You stay where you are for several long minutes, blinking back tears and swallowing down anxiety and feeling so stupid for thinking that your friend would be any different than anyone else you’ve tried to come out to.

Because you started with the LGBT+ group at your university, only to find that there were no other trans people there and the cis members looked at you with suspicion when you gave your pronouns. So instead you checked out a trans youth group in the city, which ended up being full of binary trans people making their way through a series of transitions that you’re not even sure if you want yet.

You had gone to the student services office to see if you could get your name changed on your university paperwork and you were immediately dismissed. “Come back with proof of your legal name change, or an override letter from your advisor,” you were told. So you had gone to your advisor to plead your case and he had looked at you with pity, and recommended that you go to the health center to get resources to deal with your stress and “confusion”.

And you went to the health center, because maybe talking this over with a therapist would do you some good. But once you had said you were non-binary the therapist had started with a line questioning that you weren’t comfortable with: How’s your relationship with your parents? Did you have a difficult childhood? Do you feel unheard or unnoticed in your daily life?

You left her office with a second appointment made under your deadname that you don’t think you’ll be going to, and more confusion in your heart than when you first walked in.

You sniffle a few times, and wipe at your eyes, and finally leave the place where you had met your friend. Ex-friend, now, probably, and fuck that’s not a thought you think you can handle right now. You don’t think you can handle much of anything at the moment, to be honest. Even simply being in public is making your skin crawl, and you hurry home as quickly as you can because at least there you’ll feel safe.

You throw your bag down on the floor and curl up in a ball on the couch, and everything just hits you at once. You start sobbing, remembering the look of disgust on your friend’s face, the way the therapist constantly misgendered you, the uncomfortable feeling of being both too trans and not trans enough depending on where you went, and having no idea how you’re supposed to navigate this confusing path when you’re so fucking alone.

You just want someone, anyone to support you in this. You want someone to call you Y/N and “they” without stumbling over name or pronoun. You want that so badly that the wish feels like a physical ache in your chest. Hell, you’d even take the mistakes, you’d take the slip-ups, you’d take the accidental misgendering and deadnaming as long as it was accidental. As long as it meant that someone cared enough to make the effort to try.

You’re crying so hard that you don’t hear the door open or the quiet footsteps that announce someone else’s arrival in the house. It’s not until you feel a hand pet your hair and a gentle voice ask, “D/N, dear, what’s wrong?” that you realize your dad is home.

Roger is crouched down on one knee in front of you and he looks worried, understandable considering that he found his child bawling their eyes out on the living room sofa. “I- I-” you try to explain, but your breath catches in your throat and before you can stop yourself you’re crying again.

Roger wraps his arms around you and you bury your face against his shoulder, soaking his shirt with your tears. “It’s alright, D/N, whatever it is, it’ll be alright,” he says, trying to soothe you, but his words and your deadname only ratchet your anxiety up even more.

It’s not alright and you don’t know how you’re going to explain this to your dad without coming out and you can’t do that, you can’t, because if he freaks out and reacts like everyone else you don’t know what you’re going to do-

“D/N, D/N, dear, you have to calm down,” Roger says, rubbing one hand along your back. “Try to match your breathing with mine, yeah? In… and out… and in again…”

Your first inhale is a desperate gasp, quickly choked off by another sob, but Roger is patient and he keeps coaxing you through each breath, grounding you until the panic attack subsides and your crying finally stops. “Feeling better?” Roger asks quietly. You shrug, as best you can with your dad’s arms still around you and your face still hidden against him. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not particularly,” you mumble.

It’s a response that you know isn’t going to fly, and you’re not surprised when Roger sighs and says, “Yes, well, I’m a little worried about you now. I just want to know if everything’s alright.”

“Obviously not.” Roger pokes you in the side and despite yourself you manage a small smile. You pull back, wiping at your eyes for a moment before Roger gently pulls your hands away and rubs at the tear tracks on your face with his sleeve. You can see the concern in his eyes and it makes you feel guilty enough that you find yourself saying, “I, ah, I had a fight with a friend this afternoon.”

“Must’ve been one hell of a fight.” Roger offers you a small grin, but it does little to comfort you as you remember exactly how the conversation with your friend had gone.

“Yeah, it was,” you say in a small, watery voice. “I don’t… I don’t think we’re friends anymore, actually.”

“Now, don’t say that,” Roger says. “Believe me, I’ve had some nasty arguments with some very dear friends in my time, but once you both cool down and can talk it out…”

You shake your head. “I don’t think there’s any coming back from this. She thinks I’m crazy, or a- a freak.”

Roger frowns in obvious confusion. “Why the hell would she think that?”

It’s always been easy to talk to your dad and now you’ve gone and said too much without realizing it. So you don’t answer his question and Roger sighs again, a little more frustrated this time. He stands up with a small groan, his joints protesting at the movement, and sits next to you on the couch, wrapping one arm around your shoulders. You want to lean into his embrace but you hold yourself stiff and apart, afraid to let down your guard for fear of saying something that will irreparably ruin your relationship with your dad.

“Listen, D/N, I hope you know that you can tell me anything,” Roger says. The more he calls you by your deadname the more you struggle not to flinch at the sound of it. You know he’s not using the wrong name on purpose, but that doesn’t make hearing it hurt any less. “I don’t care if you’ve murdered someone, you’re still my kid and I’ll still do anything I can to help.”

He sounds so sincere that for a moment you don’t think about the terrible reactions you’ve had from everyone you’ve come out to so far. You just think about how this is your dad, the one who’s always been there for you no matter what, the one who’s supported every decision you’ve ever made even if he didn’t agree with it, the one who’s always been your rock even as he lets you forge your own path in life.

He’s Roger Taylor. He was close friends with Freddie Mercury, he’s a patron of Cornwall Pride, and he’s never shown even the slightest hint of homophobia in your entire life. And transphobia may be a beast of an entirely different nature, as you’re quickly finding out yourself, but you have to believe that he’ll be equally accepting of your gender because you don’t think you can keep struggling forward on your own anymore.

Of course, actually getting the words out is slightly more difficult, especially as your anxiety spikes again at the thought of what you’re about to do. “I… Well, I…”

“Take your time with it, D/N, there’s no rush.”

And that’s a perfect, albeit unexpected, opening. “Actually, that’s… I don’t want to be called D/N anymore.”

“Alright,” Roger says, without a second of hesitation. “What would you like to be called instead?”

You take a deep breath. “Y/N.”

“Y/N,” Roger repeats, and your heart sings at the sound of your true name being spoken without derision or disdain. Roger grins at you and adds, “Good choice. I like it.”

You laugh, a little breathless and a lot nervous, and say, “Thanks. But that’s not- that’s not everything.”

Roger gives you the space to collect yourself, staying quiet for once and simply waiting for you to finish your explanation. You take another deep breath and let it out slowly. Your dad’s arm is heavy around your shoulders, the silence between you nearly suffocating as you open your mouth, struggling to find the right words at first before you manage to say, “I- I also want to be called “they” from now on.”

This time there is a pause from Roger and you wait, heart hammering in your chest, for the few too-long seconds before he finally says, “I can do that. Can you explain why, though?”

“I’m non-binary.”

The words hang in the air and you think you’ve never been more terrified in your dad’s presence than you are in this moment, waiting to hear his response to your announcement. Part of you wants to bolt out of the room before he says anything. A much larger part of you doesn’t want to move out of his hug, irrationally afraid that this may be the last one you’ll ever have. You know he loves you, but he’s also of a certain generation, and you’re not sure which of those facts is going to win out in this situation.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what that means,” Roger admits. “You’re gonna have to help an old man out here.”

“It’s a transgender identity, only instead of a binary man or binary woman I’m…” Something else, you had intended to say, but you remember your former best friend sneering those words at you and they stick in your throat, and you find that you can’t finish your sentence.

“So you’re transgender, then,” Roger says. You nod, staring down at the floor instead of at your dad. “But you’re not strictly a man or woman… something in-between, then? Or neither at all?”

You shrug. “Something like that, yeah. It’s just... I’m non-binary. That’s it.”

“Okay,” Roger says easily. You look up at him, hesitant, afraid that despite his words you’ll find a look of disgust on his face, but the only thing there is the same love and acceptance that you’ve known your whole life. You can feel tears well up in your eyes again, and Roger’s face softens as he says, “Oh, Y/N…”

Hearing him use your real name so easily sets you off and you start crying again, burying your face in your hands until Roger coaxes you back upright and holds you close to his chest. You don’t even know why you’re crying anymore, except that you feel fragile around the edges, like there’s nothing you can do to hold back your emotions anymore now that you’re no longer hiding this last part of yourself.

Luckily the tears stop quicker this time, and when you sit back up you’re quick to apologize with, “God, I’m so sorry, I don’t know why I’m being such a crybaby about this-”

“Hey now, don’t apologize,” Roger tells you. “You’ve had a hell of a day, I think you’re allowed to be a bit emotional.” He wipes your tears away again and maybe it should make you feel babied, but it’s such a familiar act from your dad that it’s a comfort to have him do it now. It’s a small assurance that coming out really hasn’t changed anything.

Still, you can’t help but ask, “Are you really okay with all of this?”

“Of course,” Roger says immediately. “You’re still my kid, Y/N. This doesn’t change that. And honestly, I already told you that I’d help if you murdered someone, this is absolutely harmless in comparison to that…”

You do smile at your dad’s attempt to lighten the situation, but you’re entirely sincere when you tell him, “Thank you anyway. You’re… Well, you’re actually the first good reaction I’ve had so far.”

Roger’s face goes stormy at that, but his voice stays even when he says, “Right, you said you had a row with your friend...”

“And my academic advisor said I was “confused”, and the LGBT group on campus clearly didn’t want me there…” You shake your head, as if you can physically remove those thoughts, and you say, “Sorry. I don’t want to think about that now.”

“That’s fine,” Roger says, though it’s clear he’s not alright with even your brief summary of your previous attempts to come out. “But listen, Y/N, if you ever want me to throw a lawyer or two at your uni to sort shit out…” You laugh at the suggestion, and Roger just grins. “What? What’s the use of being rich and famous if I can’t use that to make things easier for my kid?”

It is a tempting idea, but not one you’re really capable of seriously entertaining at the moment. Instead you stand up, pulling your dad to his feet as well, and say, “You can use some of those Queen royalties to order takeout instead.”

“You have plenty of pocket money to order your own food, Y/N,” Roger tells you, but it’s a token protest at best and although he sighs and makes a show of rolling his eyes he’s already pulling out his phone to order the food. “What do you even want, Y/N?”

“Are you going to call me Y/N in every sentence now?” you ask instead of answering his question.

Roger raises an eyebrow at you. “Does it bother you?”

“No. Not at all.” On the contrary you love hearing someone finally call you by your real name.

“Then yeah,” Roger says. “Seems like I have twenty-odd years of calling you the wrong name to make up for, after all.”

You can feel tears prick at the corner of your eyes again, but this time you manage to hold them back. You hug your dad tightly and whisper another, “Thank you.”

Roger presses a kiss to your temple, his beard tickling your skin. “Of course. I love you, Y/N.”

“Love you too dad,” you say, and you mean it with every fiber of your being. None of your previous horrible interactions seem to matter anymore because you know your dad has your back. And with Roger Taylor in your corner, you’re pretty sure you’ll be able to get through anything else that’s thrown in your path.

#roger taylor fic #roger taylor fanfic #roger taylor fanfiction #queen band fic #reader insert fic #transphobia tw //#my fic #roger #(I don't actually know how to tag a reader insert gen fic?? so I hope this works lmfao)

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