Detroit Become Human x Readers

Family (Connor x Trans!Reader)

On a normal Monday, you were stressed going into work. You never knew what kind of fucked up case you’d be dumped with, but that was part of the job. And a part of your life.

The same couldn’t be said of your family.

Contact between you and your parents was rare. Normally you only visited every 3rd Christmas, or every now and then for birthdays. But with the death of a distant relative over the weekend, and an invitation urging you to the funeral, you had no option but to visit.

2 days and a night were all you spent there, but it was apparently all they needed to invalidate your entire being, as they always did. Deadnames, misgendering, passive aggression you could go on and on. It replayed itself over and over in your head even after you got home, during your commute to work. Like a pounding headache, you could not ignore.

They were morons. The fact they thought they could bully you into something you weren’t or treat you that way spoke more about them than you, of course. They were utter idiots, and you knew that. But it didn’t take away the fact that what they said really fucking hurt.

Every reflective surface you passed, you couldn’t help but take a moment to look. To stare at yourself. You felt like something was wrong, no matter how many times you checked and checked again. Did your hair look right? Maybe it was the wrong length? Were these clothes giving you the right frame? The felt wrong, that was for sure. Was that person staring at you because they were bored, or because they could tell? God, please, were you passing?

“You look like shit,” Hank says the moment you sit down at your desk. There’s a pause as you send him a withering look, dumping your bag to the ground with a thud. The weight is off your shoulders, but it doesn’t make your body feel any less heavy as you lean back in your chair and take a deep breath. You would have answered but the chatter and the sound of terminals in the background was hell on your ears as you tried to focus, to think about something.

“What, no ‘fuck you’ back?” Hank asks with a smirk. You don’t answer him, running your hands down your face with a long groan. You want to curl up and hide away under a blanket where people cant look at you. Where you don’t have to look at yourself. But you can’t. You have a job to do.

“Can we skip the banter today?” You ask, voice cracking a bit in a way that only made your chest tighter. Hank raises his brows and scoffs.

“Not in the mood?” There’s a flare of irritation in your stomach, burning you from the inside as your head snaps up to glower. He means well. At least, you hope he does. But this kind of thing isn’t helping your mood one bit. You’re about to open your mouth to cuss him out when a presence makes itself known beside your desk, cutting both you and Anderson off with their cool and collected speech.

“I think Detective Y/L/N would prefer for this conversation to end.” Your workmate Connor says, with a tilted head and steady gaze. Three months ago, when you first met this ‘Android sent by CyberLife’ you would have thought he was just settling the situation to get closer to his goal. Since his deviancy, that had changed.

You can see it, just barely in his eyes as he stared at the Lieutenant. A measure of passive-aggressive force that for once, seems to shut Hank up. With a grumble, he goes back to the files on his terminal. And with a smile, Connor turns to you.

“Good morning, Detective Y/N.” He says, facing you with a relaxed stance, holding you in a gentle gaze. You would have appreciated his calming aura more, was your sheer frustration not so overwhelming.

“Is it?” You ask in a dull voice, picking up a slight flicker of his LED and a crease of his brow as you speak. It was probably weird how used you were to watching Connors facial expressions, but you weren’t made a detective for nothing. Yeah. You were gonna go with that excuse.