Chapter Text
Duke sat on the edge of Heather McNamara’s bed, trying to calm the nervous energy inside of her. Her fingers tangled and twisted in the yellow sheets under her. Heather McNamara watched Duke’s movements from the chair in front of her vanity.
This was it. She was going to tell Heather. And then she would pray to a god that she stopped believing in a long time ago that Heather wouldn’t scream that one terrible word at her and tell everyone at school. Not that she thought Heather even could scream. Or raise her voice in any way for that matter.
“You said you had something to tell me?” Heather stared at her expectantly and spoke softly. She cocked her head and her beautiful blonde hair cascaded in gentle waves down her shoulders and back. Duke was so envious of her hair. Long, pretty, girl hair.
Her hair was a little longer than the other boys in the eighth grade. Almost down to her earlobes. Also a little wavy but mostly dark.
“I do,” Duke whispered. She took a deep breath, preparing her next statement. Anxiety quelled down in her tummy and she swallowed. “I- I’m a girl.”
Heather blinked. She didn’t expect that but she recovered quickly, “Okay.”
Heather never expected Duke to be trans. Maybe gay but not trans. She had never even known a trans person until now.
That was probably her fault for assuming what trans people were like though. Or assuming for what gay people were like.
“O-kay? Just okay? It means that I’m not a boy and that my pronouns are switched,” Duke’s hands shook and she curled them into fists on top of her thighs to stop it.
“Yeah. I kind of figured that out. But if you say you’re a girl, I’m not going to deny you that. I believe you,” Heather smiled, bubbly as usual. More so, since her parents’ divorce.
“Aren’t you going to ask why I know? Or how I know so young?” Duke asked. That’s what the adults would ask but she really didn’t want to have to answer those questions ever. How could anyone possibly explain that they just didn’t feel like herself in her body? That she would just feel so much better in a girl’s body? And she couldn’t help that she felt this way at only fifteen years old.
“Not unless you want me to,” Heather got up and sat beside Duke. Their thighs touched. “So… name? I don’t want to keep calling you something you’re uncomfortable with.”
Duke fidgeted with her hands, “This is going to sound dumb.”
“It won’t.”
“Well, I’ve always loved your name. Heather. Short and sweet and perfect. It’s yours though, and I don’t want to take it,” Duke explained. She shook her hair out, causing her somewhat feminine bangs to fall over her face.
“If it’s a name you like — a name you want, then you should have it. It’s not mine to patent,” Heather murmured and held her hand. She could promise that Heather Chandler would feel the same way though.
“You promise you don’t mind?” Duke squirmed anxiously.
“I promise, Heather.” An instant fluttery feeling erupted in the nervous girl’s belly and she smiled a little. “That’s gonna take some getting used to though. I’m sorry if I ever mess up with the pronouns or the name. And please correct me when I do.” Heather side-hugged the girl beside her.
“Okay.”
“Nowww, let’s talk about hair. I think you would look good with hair down to here,” Heather said and gestured her hand to a couple inches past where Heather Duke’s underarms were. “And we could tease it to make it look more feminine.”
“Oh,” Heather Duke never considered growing her hair out so long. She had dreamed of course but considered? Not a chance. Not with the way she was living now.
Heather went on, “Oh, you would look so good in a skirt with those legs too! I could get you some clothes sometime soon and-”
Heather Duke tensed. She wanted this, always had. So why wasn’t she more excited? Why weren’t there butterflies in her stomach? Why was she so scared?
She sat on her hands, “Could we slow down a little? I’m not sure if I’m ready to really be… you know, out.”
“Oh. Yeah. Yeah, of course,” Heather clamped her mouth shut before opening it to speak again, softer this time. “I guess I should’ve started with asking what you want from this.”
“That’s okay. I guess I do want the skirts and long hair. I really do but…” Heather Duke trailed off.
“But…?”
“But I really, really want breasts. And girl underwear. These pink ones that hug my hips,” Heather Duke squeezed her legs together and grinned, thinking of all the different types of underwear and of the taping material she saw. Thinking of those things on her.
“Okay. I could get you some underwear. There’s not much I could do for the breasts though. Maybe we could try out bra stuffing? Or a training corset?”
Heather Duke shrugged. She figured that there weren't many real solutions for that other than surgery and that was expensive, “That’s okay. One day,” A small pause and then a light whisper, “I think I just need you.”
“Well, good,” she scoffed. “Because I’m staying right here and there’s nothing you can do to change that, Heather.”
Heather Duke looked over at Heather’s vanity, the corners of her lips tipping up. A mirror, some lipstick, beauty blenders, and other miscellaneous beauty products. Something caught her eye. A bottle of yellow nail polish in a sunny shade that she’s seen Heather put on during their sleepovers (of which people doubted they were just platonic, and maybe they were right). “What if I paint my nails?”
Her nails were a little longer than what people would approve of for a boy. But just long enough to be shaped and painted.
Heather grinned warmly in that way that made Heather Duke’s face heat up if she looked for long enough. A huge smile that just screamed ‘yes’, “What colour?”
Heather Duke grinned back and held out her fingers for examination, “Got any green?”
Notes:
Thank you so much for reading!! There will be more to this series!!! I'm going to make most of them have a really cheesy happy ending, but she deserves it!!!
Chapter 2: 2: Fag - McDuke
Summary:
Heather Chandler calls Heather Duke a fag, but she has something to say about it.
Notes:
TW: Minor slur use.
Chapter Text
“Come on, Duke. Stop wearing your hair like that. You look like a fag,” Heather Chandler scoffed and rolled her eyes.
Heather Duke stiffened and Heather McNamara squeezed her hand. Her hair wasn’t that feminine but she had recently been trying something new to tease it to look longer and wavier.
It had been four months since she’d come out to Heather McNamara and only her. Four months of only nail painting and the agonizingly slow change to her wardrobe. Some leggings or blouses here but mostly, her closet was still full of polos and oversized hoodies used to hide her figure. The hoodies were from the women’s section at least.
“Heather, that’s not a cool thing to say,” Heather McNamara scolded softly but firmly. Heather Duke knew she hated when people said slurs. Something linked to when people used to call her retarded for being autistic in elementary.
“What? It’s true! He’s always wearing makeup and nail polish. I get that you think he’s your little boyfriend, Heather, but that doesn’t mean you get to deny this,” Chandler shrugged, showing no remorse.
The words. God, the words stung so bad. Burned like the bile in her throat after lunch.
He. Him. His. Boy. Boyfriend. Fag. Boy. He him his he him his. HE! BOY!! BOYFRIEND!!! BOY!!!!!
Heather Duke suddenly felt like crying. She always felt like crying these days. God, she was so pathetic. They were only words and here she was not even able to look up from the linoleum flooring.
Why didn’t people just see that she was a girl? Why did she have to tell them? Why couldn’t she just have been born right and why couldn’t she just be *herself*?!
“It’s not that I think I’m dating Duke! It’s that s- Duke is my friend and I want to stand up for him when you’re treating them badly,” Heather McNamara defended.
Heather Duke couldn’t help but notice Heather McNamara’s pronouns usage. How she kept having to force herself to not say ‘she’ or ‘her’ or how she used ‘they’ instead of ‘him’ at the end to soften the blow a bit.
“Whatever. When you come crawling to me because you fell for a gay boy with no balls, I’m not helping you,” Heather Chandler moved like she was about to stalk off. Heather Duke, in a moment of bravery and desperation, grabbed her wrist. She was done with being a boy with one of the only who was to be her friend. Sort of friend.
“Heather…” Heather McNamara murmured softly. She said it in such a calming yet scolding tone that Heather Duke didn’t know who she was talking to.
“Heather, we need to talk,” Heather Duke said, firmly, allowing no room for argument.
“Okay, talk to me then,” Heather Chandler coldly shook Heather Duke off and crossed her arms.
“I am not a boy,” Heather Duke said. She said it so firmly, so unflinching that it almost didn’t sound like a coming out if there wasn’t that undercurrent of anxiety in her voice. It sounded like the hours she spent saying that in the mirror and bursting into tears had paid off.
“Excuse me?”
“I said I’m not a boy. I am a girl,” Heather Duke repeated. Then it hit her what she had said. Hard. She had just said what she thought she would never say to anyone but her reflection and Heather McNamara.
“You have a dick, right? Doesn’t that mean that you’re a boy? Or was I right when I said you don’t have balls?” Heather Chandler smiled smugly as Heather Duke stumbled back.
“Balls don’t make a guy. Guys can have vaginas too,” Heather McNamara piped up.
She hated how Heather Chandler thought so black and white sometimes. So normative. As if Heather Duke had to be a boy for having a penis. As if Heather McNamara couldn’t be friends with a boy without it being a crush. As if a boy couldn’t like jewelry without being gay.
Heather Chandler looked Heather Duke up and down then shrugged, “Okay. So you’re a girl. But everyone calls you ‘he’. Do I just snap ‘she’ at them so hard that they get too scared to talk about you at all?” Heather Chandler raised an eyebrow, a ghost of a smirk playing on her face at the idea.
She did have that kind of power but what would that lead to? More confusion? No. Heather Duke didn’t want that.
“No. Then you would call me ‘he’. At least, until I come out. I’m still working on that,” Heather Duke murmured the last part.
It was true, she was working on telling her family and the school but she was afraid of the backlash. What would people say? And she knew there would be people who would just not respect her. They didn’t live in the most progressive place or time, after all.
At least Heather Chandler was only snarky for a bit instead of just hating her for something she couldn’t even control.
“But she knew?” Heather Chandler jerked her head towards Heather McNamara. Her carefully tied back strawberry blonde curls shook in a way that probably made the jocks jerk off whenever she moved her head.
“Yes.”
Heather Chandler smirked, “So, looks like I wasn’t wrong about the part about you liking each other.”
Heather Duke flushed bright red and Heather McNamara cleared her throat and looked away. Even with the teasing though, Heather Duke was so glad that Heather Chandler respected her enough to support her identity.
“So, you’re okay with it?” she cocked her head.
“God, yes! I said fag because I’m literally gay! I'm a comphet, not an ass!” Heather Chandler threw her hands up. Her hair bounced again.
“Oh.” Heather Duke didn’t know that and judging from the looks Heather McNamara was giving, she didn’t either. Heather Chandler, gay?
“Yeah. ‘Oh,’” Heather Chandler mocked. “Jesus Christ.”
Heather Chandler gave them one last glance and then walked off, muttering words like ‘broken gadar’ under her breath. Her heels clacked on the tiles of the empty classroom that they went to during lunch most days.
Heather McNamara turned to Heather Duke and lightly elbowed her in the ribs, “At least she accepts. She seemed pretty cool with it, actually.”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t let her sass fool you. She cares. And don’t listen to the whole f-word business.”
“I know,” Heather Duke sighed but she couldn’t help but smile at how Heather McNamara wouldn’t even say the slur.
“I’m proud that you told her,” Heather McNamara grinned.
God, that smile. With the light peach lipstick that Heather Duke had watched so carefully when she swept it on in the cloudy girls’ bathroom mirrors (which she had snuck in to hang out more with Heather McNamara and Heather Chandler).
Butterflies bounced and crawled around in the walls of her tummy as she looked at the pretty lips and teeth.
She had to look away as much as she didn’t want to.
“I’m glad I did. Even if it seems like she hates me a lot,” Heather Duke murmured.
“Oh, please. She doesn’t hate you. She’s just… specific about how she acts,” Heather McNamara shrugged. “Weird as fuck, I know.”
Heather Duke held out her arms for a hug and Heather McNamara gladly stepped into them.
“Heather,” she whispered. That was her new thing. Calling Heather Duke by her real name when they were alone together, trying her best to commit her new name to memory.
“I’m here.”
It wasn’t the coming out that Heather Duke expected but it was a relief. A huge relief and finally she was making some fucking progress. Some much needed progress and it made her think that maybe she would actually get to be a girl after all.
No, she already was. The problem was that people didn’t know.
But they would.
Chapter 3: 3: Bathroom - McDuke
Summary:
Heather Duke purges in the bathroom and Heather Chandler only wishes to comfort her.
Chapter Text
Heather Duke hunched over the toilet of the second stall in the cafeteria bathroom. She had somehow snuck into the girls’ for her post-lunch purge again without getting caught.
Heather Chandler watched her carefully, calculatingly from in front of the open stall door. Heather McNamara was out for the week, visiting her mother across the country, otherwise, Heather Chandler would be finishing her lunch with Veronica. But Heather McNamara begged her to do this so Heather Duke didn't end up out cold with vomit in her hair in the school bathroom.
It was weird at first when Heather Duke and Heather McNamara started dating. Heather Chandler knew it was coming but it was so soon after Heather Duke came out as trans that it almost made processing the lesbian thing hard.
Heather Chandler looked up and down the crouching girl’s figure. She hated seeing Heather Duke like this. So small so pathetic-looking. Not bitchy or jealous or even sweet like she sometimes was. Just a prolific version of the depressed girl that she usually was.
Heather Duke scooted closer to the toilet. After recently learning how to flex her stomach and chest muscles up, Heather Duke could purge without using her fingers to trigger her gag reflex and it was… detrimental to say the least.
Heather Duke held her hair back and she let her head hang over the toilet, nausea already building. She forced her stomach muscles up, convulsed once, twice, and then vomited. Chunks of unknown school lunch, bile, and lots of water violently ejected from her body and landed in the toilet with noises that made Heather Chandler want to join Heather Duke over the toilet.
Heather Duke was selfish. Selfish. Why should she want food? She already takes too much. Too much of everything. Too much space. Why would she ever want to stop being hungry, why would she ever want to stop vomiting, when she could be skinny? When she could be a real girl? When she could be worth something?
An awful stench filled the room and Heather Chandler had to plug her nose and look away. Heather Duke was still vomiting and didn't even seem fazed by the smell.
“God, Heather,” Heather Chandler said, devoid of her usual snapping or cold tone. Heather Duke had come out to her a few weeks ago but not to the school or her parents yet. Heather Chandler was still terrible at the pronouns, but she could remember the name easily enough. Same as hers, after all. That was a little strange but why question it?
Heather Chandler was kind of… concerned though. If Heather Duke had been doing this every day for months, that couldn't be good. Not for her stomach oesophagus or teeth and it was probably feeding into some damn addiction too.
Heather Duke finally finished and half-plopped half-fell from her aching knees onto the floor, a few stands of dark hair falling in her hair. She took a deep breath, roughly blew it out to get the hair out of her face, and used her feet to back herself against the stall wall. There was nothing left in her.
“How do you do that? Jesus fucking Christ,” Heather Chandler muttered. Heather Duke looked especially pale in the dim buzzing school lights, especially against her deep forest green clothes.
“You just have to hate yourself enough,” she responded, lacking much emotion or conviction. The response almost seemed mocking.
The reply shocked Heather Chandler, not really able to not feel partially at blame. Was Heather Duke doing this because she called her a fag? Was this all her fault?
Heather Chandler walked over to the small girl on the floor whose trembling fingers topped with purple fingernails were picking a breath mint out. The clicking of her red heels stopped right in front of Heather Duke and Heather Chandler touched her brown waves, fingers burying deep under the hair, “This isn't because I said you looked like a fag… Is it? I said sorry a million times and I am. I didn't mean to be transphobic or anything. I just meant…” She trailed off, not knowing what she meant at that moment. Did she really just say that to be mean?
“I know. It's not that,” Heather Duke sucked on the mint. She pushed Heather Chandler's hand out of her hair.
“Then what is it? It's not nothing, I know that. I know it has something to do with the whole girl thing,” Heather Chandler put a hand on her hip and looked at Heather Duke expectantly, her sass coming back.
“My body. Dysphoria. Shit like that,” Heather Duke mumbled. She was very clear about not wanting to go into detail with someone other than her girlfriend.
Heather Chandler huffed, she was getting more frustrated by the second. Here she was, beckoning, practically begging to know why her friend was bulimic and Heather Duke wouldn't tell her? All because they weren't kissing and fucking in the back of trucks?
Part of Heather Chandler knew it was because Heather Duke had problems. Real, real problems where all she wanted to do was be skinny like a girl and hurt herself. But she wanted to hear the brunette say it herself.
She wanted to have some sort of bond with this girl, even if for just a bit. Maybe she’s already ruined that though.
“Well, I'm trying to connect with you. I'm sorry if it never seems like I am but at least I'm making an effort to care,” Heather Chandler spat and stalked off. Heather Duke imagined her with a cat's tail, angrily swishing back and forth as she stomped out of the bathroom. Back to whatever dyke-ish adventure she was having with Veronica.
At least she could be alone now.
Heather Chandler was never patient anyway. Not like Heather McNamara. Oh, Heather McNamara, she wasn't here to give Heather Duke her tiny nose kisses thing or card her fingers through her hair in that way that put hours of teasing to waste. She wasn’t here to look just past the girl and grin when everything was finally okay afterwards.
Heather Duke felt a pang of missing her best friend because what do you do when the only person you actually trust isn't there?
Heather Duke moved to lean back over the toilet because when she was malnourished, or when she was too thin or when she could hardly stand, at least the beast inside of her was strong.
Chapter 4: 4: Bedroom -McDuke
Summary:
Heather Duke won't leave her bedroom and Heather McNamara is concerned.
Chapter Text
Heather Duke dropped her bag down on the room of her uncleaned bedroom floor and collapsed into her bed, taking the same spot under the covers that she always did when she got home after school. Shoulder-length hair splayed out on her pillow, deep brown eyes averted, body covered by layers of bedding.
Heather McNamara followed her, carefully dodging the small piles of dirty clothes like they were landmines before perching on the edge of the unmade bed.
She hated it when her girlfriend was like this. Too depressed to even put her clothes in a hamper. Too dysphoric to even leave her room. Not eating and purging violently when she did. Barely passing some classes and failing even more.
Things hadn’t been great since Heather Duke officially came out a couple months ago. She couldn’t use the girls’ lockers or restrooms at school even after tears in the principal’s office. The teachers ignored her preferred name and pronouns, no matter how many times or how many of the few accepting people corrected them. Other students called her tranny in the halls.
The worst of it all was how Heather Duke looked at herself. Spending hours at a time naked in front of the mirror, hating anything she possibly could. Hips, legs, tummy, face, chest, shoulders. But her waist was getting thinner and soon her hair would too. Her messy, tangled, beautiful hair.
Sometimes, when she was especially frustrated at the world or dysphoric, she would pull on her penis in front of the mirror, knowing it wouldn't come off but trying nonetheless. She would never pull hard enough to do everlasting damage or tear the skin. Just hard enough to make the flesh turn white before flushing back to a deep, angry, stinging red. Hard enough to feel satisfying. Hard enough to hurt.
And Heather McNamara had to watch it all. The staring, the teasing, the hating, the disordered eating. All she wanted to do was make it better but she didn’t know how.
She was able to kick back at the ignorant asses when people called Heather Duke fag in the halls before coming out. But now? As a bulimic transgender lesbian? Not a chance.
The only good thing that came out of Heather Duke’s coming-out was how her parents reacted. They weren’t the commercial family kind of parents who affirmed their love at any chance, but they were trying. And Heather Chandler didn’t show it but she cared too. Kind of.
“Hey, love?” Heather McNamara murmured, reaching for Heather Duke’s hand as she resisted any sort of touch. Slipping into herself like she had for weeks.
“Yeah?” Heather Duke responded, quiet and sombre.
“How about we get some snacks? We could go grab some coffee and pastries from downtown or something,” Heather McNamara offered. She wanted her girlfriend to eat, even if just some shitty artificially flavoured syrup and whipped cream.
“I’m not hungry.”
“You’ve been saying that a lot. Are you not hungry or not wanting to gain weight?” Heather McNamara asked pointedly. Her heart sank farther than it ever had as she only got a shrug in response.
She sighed gently, not frustrated but worried, “Love- Sweetheart- Heather, please, you have to see this. Your parents are worried. Heather’s worried in her own way. I’m worried. I’m scared shitless. You don’t go out. You don’t even leave your damn room as soon as you get home. You lay down and you don’t take care of yourself.”
Heather Duke turned away and Heather McNamara desperately tried to get her to look back, still hopelessly pleading, “I know things are hard. I know. And I’m here. Please. You’re going to end up in the hospital. It hurts to watch this happen to you. You’re my girl and you’re destroying yourself. Eat, leave your room, shower, laugh, do anything to show me that you’re still in there. Please.”
Heather Duke turned back around and buried her face into Heather McNamara’s chest, “I’m here.” Relief flooded through Heather McNamara and pooled in her belly like warm milk. She wrapped her arms around Heather Duke and squeezed.
“I’m sorry.”
“No. *No. I’m* sorry. I should’ve said something sooner. You’re not doing well,” Heather McNamara coaxed her into sitting up. “But I’m doing something now and can you please eat something small?”
There was a long pause before a small, slightly whiny, ‘Yeah.’ breathed out from the brunette’s lips.
“Thank you, and, hey,” Heather McNamara tilted Heather Duke’s chin up and smiled warmly, eyes wet. “It’s us together, okay?”
“Okay.”
“My *girl*.”
Chapter 5: 5: Shopping - McDuke
Summary:
Heather Duke doesn't have the right clothes, so Heather McNamara takes her shopping.
Chapter Text
"Hey,” Heather McNamara greeted, sliding onto a couch and slinging her arm around Heather Duke's shoulder. Her blonde hair was damp from having just taken a shower.
Heather Duke usually would get onto her for showering right after school, claiming that it still let germs get on you before you went to bed and dirty up your sleeping areas. But she hadn't this afternoon, despite the ongoing, yet typically playful, arguments.
Heather McNamara kissed Heather Duke's cheek before moving to hold it in her palm. She remained like that for a few moments to admire her girlfriend's, admittedly somber expression.
Then, Heather McNamara turned Heather Duke's head to direct her gaze almost enough to make eye contact, “Is something wrong, love?”
There was pause before any reply came, but it did. “Dysphoria day,” the brunette mumbled, tucking her feet closer to her body on the couch.
“You've been having a lot of those lately. Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not really. It's the same thing you've heard before.” Heather Duke turned back away and settled deeper into the furniture.
Heather McNamara shifted to lean her body back against Heather Duke, chest on shoulder, hands wrapped around to her other side. “That doesn't mean I mind listening. I'm just relieved that you're not locking yourself up in the bedroom this time.”
“Sometimes I still feel like doing it,” she admitted, and let her body fall limp in her girlfriend's hold.
“I know.” Heather McNamara murmured. She let the silence hang there for a beat before standing up and trying to heft Heather Duke up. “But staying on this ratty old thing isn't going to help either. I had an idea, so let's go shopping.”
Heather Duke looked down at the couch. It wasn't at all how Heather McNamara had described. The couch was almost perfect, if a little wrinkled from people's weights, though the Duke family did often refrain from messing up any of the furniture with something as ridiculous as sitting. Or maybe they just refrained from spending any time with their daughter at all. There were no tears on the couch and guests were warned about it before even entering the home.
Heather Duke brought her confused gaze to look at Heather McNamara, in turn, making her playfully scoff, “I was exaggerating. Yes, I'm autistic. Yes, I can still do that.”
Then, she promptly grabbed the brunette's wrist and dragged her to her own green coated room.
“Okay! Get dressed,” Heather McNamara commanded, nudging Heather Duke toward her walk-in closet.
Heather Duke looked down at her clothes. They were the ones she had chosen this morning. Heather Chandler and Heather McNamara wore blazers and skirts every day, which she had often longed to do from the moment she came out, but skirts didn't fit right on her hips and that led to an awkward game with her underwear.
“Why can't I wear this?”
“Because it's baggy jeans and a band T-shirt. You probably just threw it on this morning without even looking. It's one of the least feminine things you can wear,” Heather McNamara responded, letting herself into the closet and bustling around between clothes. Her brow furrowed. “Don't you own any cute dresses?”
Heather Duke followed and shook her head, causing Heather McNamara's confusion to grow tenfold, “What do you mean you don't have any dresses?”
The blonde rushed out of the closet in a whirl of still-wet waves. She stormed out to Heather Duke's dresser and threw open every drawer. Then she got to Heather Duke's underwear drawer and stopped, realisation flitting across her face, “Oh.”
Heather Duke took a hesitant step forward. Rarely did she ever see her girlfriend like this, but this was expected to happen at some point in time.
“You only have boys’ underwear. And if you don't have panties to wear with dresses or skirts, then, literally, it's balls-out for you.”
Heather Duke winced slightly at the lack of eloquence from the statement but nodded nonetheless.
“Is this your parents again?”
“No.”
“Hmph.” Heather McNamara crossed her arms over her chest in clear disapproval before bringing them back up to cup Heather Duke's face. “Heather, I will remind you of this thousands and thousands of times if I have to. You are not a boy. Boys wear boys’ underwear. If you feel comfortable in girls’ clothes, then don't let silly boxers stop you.”
Heather Duke leaned her head on Heather McNamara's shoulder, “I know. But I can't get panties because I don't know how to tape.”
Heather McNamara nodded, causing her hair to leave little water trails on Heather Duke's forehead, nose, and cheeks, “Well, all the more reason to go shopping. I'm buying you dresses, skirts, underwear, tape, and maybe a few more bras.”
“Where would we find any of that?” she wrinkled her nose.
“Leave that to me, darling. Now please try and find something that doesn't just make you look like a butch lesbian,” Heather McNamara kissed Heather Duke's forehead.
An hour and a half later, Heather McNamara was running her card through a card slot for at least the fourteenth time. She had earlier insisted that she was buying everything and under no circumstance would she stop.
Despite knowing her father was only getting richer by the minute, Heather Duke still felt a little bad after seeing the prices on all the receipts. It was multiple costs of over a hundred dollars at some stores and at most of them, it even out right below the triple digits.
“Are you *sure* you don't want me to buy anything?” she piped up around the bra shop.
“You can get lunch if you like.” Heather McNamara flashed her a grin. “Besides, this is on me. Consider it an early Christmas present.”
“Christmas passed over four months ago,” Heather Duke raised an eyebrow.
"You're so picky.” Heather McNamara rolled her eyes. “Fine. Early birthday present. Better?”
“My birthday isn't for-” Heather Duke stopped to let out a resigned sigh. “Yes. It's better.”
“Great. Then try these on,” Heather McNamara gave Heather Duke an armful of brassieres.
Another hour had passed before Heather Duke got home, this time feeling much lighter than before. The distraction from her problems had certainly helped the situation, but also having the much needed solutions was making her feel happier.
Within minutes of being home, Heather Duke was cutting off tags and shoving clothes into mesh bags or dropping them into the washing machine.
Heather McNamara snaked her arms around Heather Duke's waist and swayed gently, “Make sure to check the setting on the wash. Some of those dresses are more delicate than others.”
Heather Duke busier herself tuning the knob for a gentler setting and laid her hand over Heather McNamara's, while her other hand was still floating around with things to do, “Thank you. For all of this.”
“My pleasure, sweet girl,” Heather McNamara straightened up and checked her phone.
“Do you have to get home?” Heather Duke prompted, taking her hand.
“Err, yeah. Probably soon. See you later?”
Heather Duke nodded and kissed her, “Text me when you get where you need to go.”
Heather Duke stared down at the text on her phone from Heather McNamara. It was from a few hours ago, roughly from right before Heather Duke began hanging up her delicates to dry.
Quacky Macky: I'm home. Be offline for a bit, but ttylxox, bbes. <33
Heather Duke was really excited to show her girlfriend what all of the dresses and skirts looked like when she wore them, but she didn't want to spoil any surprise that it might have on her by sending a picture.
So instead, Heather Duke stood up, phone still in hand, and grabbed a pair of tucking underwear from a hanger. She swaggered into the attached bathroom and set her phone down near where she kept her toothbrush.
She hopped up onto the counter beside the sink and inch by inch, removed her sweatpants. Heather Duke took one last look at the panties in her hand before taking off her current underwear and throwing it far away from herself. Next was her button-up flannel, which was decidedly *not* girlish enough for what she was about to do.
Heather Duke slid the underwear up her calves until they reached her knees. Then she held them there before awkwardly getting down from the sink counter.
She grabbed her phone as she slid the underwear all the way up her thighs, eyes glued to the mirror. Then she opened her camera app, positioned herself perfectly, and began snapping picture after picture of her in just the underwear.
A few minutes of this went by as she posed differently in front of the mirror before Heather Duke leaned back against the counter. She scrolled through the images, picking out her best ones and deleting the ones she didn't like before opening her messages.
Heather McNamara's last message glared up at her so, just to be safe, she checked in.
All Dukes are queens: Can you look at your texts now?
Only a few more moments passed before she got a reply.
Quacky Macky: Mmm. Yes. Yes. Ready to talk now.
Heather Duke smiled to herself and sent every kept photo of herself standing in front of the mirror.
Quacky Macky: 👀
Quacky Macky: Hold up.
Quacky Macky: That's hot.
Quacky Macky: Jesus. My girlfriend looks like a sexy little thing.
Heather Duke squeezed her legs together, grinning down at her phone.
All Dukes are queens: I can show you smth else too~
Quacky Macky: Arjfjsjskjfndshdkf
Quacky Macky: No!
Quacky Macky: I can't handle it!!!
Quacky Macky: So prettyyyy!!
All Dukes are queens: Are you sureeee?
Quacky Macky: Stop it, bbg!!!
Quacky Macky: I can't handle this feeling!!
Quacky Macky: I'm going to have to stim in the bathroom for hours trying to get it out.
Quacky Macky: You're ltrly so meeeeean!!
All Dukes are queens: For being pretty?
Quacky Macky: No! For being an extremely attractive young woman that I happen to be dating. This is your fault.
All Dukes are queens: I'm srry. I'll just turn less prtty now.
Quacky Macky: NO!!!
Quacky Macky: SON’T YOU DARE!!!!!!
Quacky Macky: I WILL COME OVER THERE AND SLAP YOU IF YOU GET ANY LESS MAJESTIC!!!
All Dukes are queens: Okay. Okay. Hint taken. (I'm being sarcastic by saying hint btw.)
All Dukes are queens: I’ll stay prtty just for you. <33
All Dukes are queens: Gotta motor now though. Love, love, love youuu, my Wacky Quacky.
Quacky Macky: Goodnight, my sweet girl.
Quacky Macky: (I can detect sarcasm btw.)
Chapter 6: 6: Surgery - McDuke
Summary:
The story of Heather Duke's "implants".
Chapter Text
Heather Duke stepped into the bright fluorescent lit room. She squeezed her girlfriend’s hand anxiously, her long green nails digging into her skin.
She walked over to the hospital bed, undressed, and put on the hospital gown that the nurse laid down on it. She carefully fondled the bra that, for now, she mainly used for decoration before putting it with her other clothes as Heather McNamara stood in the corner, watching.
This was it. Heather Duke was finally getting top surgery. Fina-fucking-ly. Her parents had talked to her and signed the documents. They couldn't be here right now for work but they would be after the surgery. She only needed Heather McNamara for now anyway.
When Heather Duke got the gown on, Heather McNamara took her hand back and kissed her cheek, hugging her from behind, “My girl, are you ready for this? It’s happening soon now. How do you feel?”
“Anxious.”
“I think that’s to be expected. It is a major transition surgery after all.”
Heather Duke got on the bed and fidgeted with the ugly thing on her. Heather McNamara was flapping her hands, apparently nervous too.
“I love you no matter what, okay? Even if this gets all screwed up, I still love you. You will always be my girl. With or without breasts,” Heather McNamara squeezed her hand. The nurse came in and Heather Duke shot up in the bed. She gripped the blonde’s hand.
“Don’t leave,” she pleaded then whispered. “I’m scared.”
“I’m gonna be right out in the waiting room. I promise,” Heather McNamara hugged the girl, trying to hold back tears. “You’re going to come out looking great and I’ll be there when you wake up.”
The nurse wheeled the bed out and into the hall, letting Heather McNamara let out her emotions. The nurse’s voice was gentle as she tried to calm Heather Duke down. It helped a little. Enough for her to feel comfortable going into the surgery.
She sat on the bed in the bright lights of the room until it was time for her to be put under.
Heather Duke’s eyes fluttered open into a hospital room. She shifted slightly and yawned. God, it felt like she had just gotten hit by an eighteen wheeler.
Heather McNamara rushed over from the chair she had been sitting in, hands flapping wildly, “You’re awake! You’re awake! You did so well! I’m so proud!”
Heather Duke groaned and closed her eyes again. Her mouth was filled with the yucky taste of sleep, “‘s bright.”
Heather McNamara looked behind her and turned off the floor lamp beside the hospital bed, “Is that better? How do you feel?”
“Like a fridge landed on top of me.”
Heather McNamara laughed, “Oh, sweetheart. Well, if it helps, you look great. Really, really great. I’m going to set you up, okay?”
Heather Duke nodded and adjusted as the top half of the bed started leaning up, the sutures on her chest pulling as she did. She took a deep breath to erase her grogginess. She took a cup of water from Heather McNamara and drank it heartily before handing it back.
“How does it look?”
“Amazing. Wanna see?” Heather McNamara put the empty paper cup down and lifted a handheld mirror, holding it up for Heather Duke to look in.
Heather Duke tried to avoid looking at her dishevelled appearance in the mirror but it was impossible and she looked… not the best. There was no way to avoid looking like death after surgery, after all.
Heather Duke looked down. Her chest was covered in thick white bandages and looked to be slightly bruised under it. But there was no denying the fact that there was a definite weight on her chest. No denying that those were breasts on her.
“What do you think?” Heather McNamara asked, her excitement obvious.
“It looks different.”
“But that’s good, right?” Heather McNamara cocked her head.
Heather Duke nodded and then scooted over on her bed, patting the space beside her. Heather McNamara took the hint and unsurely but gently lowered herself on the bed beside her. Their legs tangled together.
Heather Duke closed her eyes and snuggled into Heather McNamara and she adjusted accordingly, “Hey, baby. How’s that chest feel?”
“Heavy.”
Heather McNamara laughed, “Well, that’s a good sign then. And you better get used to it. There’s no going back.”
“Good,” Heather Duke murmured, smiling and fell asleep.
Recovery was… long to say the least. Heather Duke had to take two weeks off of school with Heather McNamara. In that time, Heather Chandler begrudgingly brought them their schoolwork, but Heather Duke was tired so much of the time that she didn’t do most of it until the end of her break.
After a week, the bandages came off and she started to live a bit more normally, walking around town for breakfast and getting boba.
Once recovery was done, Heather Duke was happier than she ever could’ve been without it. Heather McNamara had even taken to calling her ‘my busty girl’ in private.
Heather Duke got much less dysphoric over time. She felt more comfortable having sex with Heather McNamara and she got misgendered less.
Maybe it took a bit of time for Heather Duke to get happier. Maybe it wasn’t the picture perfect transition that people always talked about, but it was something.
And it was everything.
Chapter 7: 7: Birthday - McDuke
Summary:
Heather Duke admires her thoughtful gift from her girlfriend.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Heather Duke sat up in bed, careful to not wake the sleeping Heather next to her. The weighted blanket that was draped over them, shifted as she wiggled. It was her birthday today.
A few months ago, she didn't think she would make it to her sixteenth birthday, too depressed to even leave her room at that point and too skinny to fit in most of her clothes. Funny what only one patient girl and a therapist could do.
“Hey, you,” Heather McNamara's eyes fluttered open and she yawned wide, legs thrashing sleepily, searching for another pair to tangle with before finding their smooth and perfectly shaved mark, “Happy birthday, my Heather.” The things that the sleepy roughness in Heather McNamara's voice when she first woke up did to Heather Duke shouldn't be allowed.
Heather Duke smiled warmly and laid back down to spoon her girlfriend, “Good morning. How did you sleep?”
Another yawn, smaller this time, “I slept well. You're like a warm pillow,” Heather McNamara kissed her cheek. “I have something for you.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I would be a pretty shitty girlfriend if I didn't get you a birthday present,” Heather McNamara got up from the bed slowly, wiggled her hips, which made Heather Duke blush, and disappeared into another room. She returned with a large mint green gift bag a minute later.
Heather Duke took it gently. She held it in her hands for a moment, “Thank you.”
Heather McNamara rolled her eyes and playfully and ignored the thanks, “What are you waiting for?”
Heather Duke fidgeted a moment, assessed how heavy the bag was, which it wasn’t, and removed the pretty orange and purple gift paper to eagerly peek inside.
On the bottom of the bag, there was a nude coloured training corset. She pulled it out and rubbed the material between her fingers.
Heather McNamara began to ramble. Her autistic info dumping really came out when she got nervous. “I wasn't sure if it would work, but I wanted to get you something to alleviate your dysphoria. I knew that I couldn't get you bottom surgery and you already have breasts and girls’ underwear so I thought of giving you those pretty curves you've been talking about wanting. I got it from a website by a trans woman and so it should do something. I kind of guessed on the sizing and if you don't want it-”
Heather Duke lifted her chin, a little to the right so Heather McNamara knew she wouldn't have to make eye contact, “Honey, I love it. I promise. I do want it and I think it'll work.”
“Okay.”
Heather Duke got up and removed the sweatshirt that she used as pyjamas, revealing her pink bra that she always wore while sleeping. Honestly, how could Heather McNamara go without support all night?
She took her time putting the corset on, being extra careful. A fluttery warm feeling in her chest and tummy that Heather McNamara described as her happy stimmy feeling when she finally saw it on herself. Heather Duke called it her euphoria feeling.
Heather McNamara's hands were covering her mouth, probably hiding a big proud smile.
The corset didn't fit perfectly, but it accentuated the curves and pinched in at the right spots. It wasn't a rough material either and mainly felt pleasant to wear, minus the bit of purposeful tightness in her waist area.
“How did you get the sizing so right?” She asked, moving to the full-length mirror in her room. She observed every inch carefully.
“I remembered some measurements from our trip to Arie, and I guessed on the hips and waist. I picked it a little bigger so it wasn't too constricting though,” Heather McNamara explained. Her voice turned to a slight drawl, “Enough of that though.”
Heather McNamara came over and began to run her hands down Heather Duke's figure, painfully slow. Heather Duke shivered as the blonde leaned in to whisper in her ear, “I think you look mighty fine with those pretty pretty girl hips. And that isn't the only present I have for you.”
Heather Duke flushed, her arousal immediate. Heather McNamara grinned as she felt Heather Duke's bulge on her thigh. She leaned closer and tangled her fingers in Heather McNamara's messy bedhead.
Heather McNamara pushed Heather Duke back on the bed, fingers already working hard to unclasp her bra. Lips and teeth and tongue on her neck.
Fifteen minutes later, Heather Duke was on her bed, dark hickeys covering her breasts and a girl on her chest.
“No wearing the corset while sleeping,” Heather McNamara murmured, tracing her nail around one particularly dark love bite. She didn't really want to do this now. She wanted to cuddle and whisper soft gender affirmations to the brunette, and flap her hands, and be happy that Heather Duke liked her gift. But this was as important as all of those.
“Yes, ma'am,” Heather Duke responded.
“Or exercising. Only eight hours at a time too.”
“Understood.”
Heather Duke knew that she could only have curves like that for a bit, at least for a few years, but she still felt a little disappointed that she couldn't wear her new corset all the time.
“Good girl,” Heather McNamara kissed her. “We'll measure you and get a better sizing soon but I hope this will be good for a couple weeks until then. The shipping takes a while.”
Heather Duke tried to hide her smile from the butterfly feeling that had come back from those two words. Her mind didn’t move from them for a moment and it took her a minute to process the words.
She looked away, a light tint dusting over her cheeks, “Interesting nickname.”
“True nickname.”
“Maybe.”
“Definitely,” Heather McNamara cupped her face and kissed down her jaw, her eyes lingering on Heather Duke’s, which never ever happened with anyone else, “Happy birthday, my love. My girl.”
Notes:
The next one is angsty and it's actually the first I wrote of the series so my apologies that it isn't very continuous with the rest, but I figured I'd post it anyway just to see if people like it.
Chapter 8: 8: Mirror - McDuke
Summary:
Heather Duke spends too long looking at her flaws and not enough finding things she loves about herself.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Heather Duke fidgeted with her hands as she stared into the mirror. Tonight, she was going to the Halloween Dance at school with her girlfriend, Heather McNamara. And here she was in her underwear and bra. Thinking too much.
She touched her tummy and then her hips. Her jaw was sharp and her face was angular. She pretended to ignore the obvious bulge in the light pink underwear that Heather McNamara got for her.
She kept staring. Looking at her disgusting boy body. She didn't have the hips that Heather or Heather or even Veronica had and the breasts in her lacy black bra weren't real breasts. They were just plastic, supposed “implants”.
She wouldn't look the same as all the other girls would in her costume. She couldn't even wear something too tight or feminine tonight because she ran out of taping material.
She was too wide. Too big. Too fat. Too there. Even though she could point out all her ribs. Even though her tummy was flat. Even though she was on the very edge of being underweight.
Heather Duke’s eating disorder had been reverting back to what it was before. She knew that Heather McNamara and her family were worried but she just couldn't help it.
An eating disorder isn't just an addiction. It's a monster that will take anyone down with it. It praises you and pets your hair when you listen and it shoves you down and hurts you when you don't. And it will never not be there.
Heather Duke plopped on the floor and began to cry just as her girlfriend came back into her room with a plate of cheese and crackers from her quick trip to the kitchen for light snacks. She drew her knees up to her chest.
“I got some- Oh. Oh, honey. Come here,” Heather McNamara immediately sat down on the floor, crossed her legs, placed the plate beside her, and held her arms out, beckoning for Heather Duke.
Heather Duke crawled into them and cried harder. She didn't even want to go to this damn dance. It would be awkward and there wouldn't even be any dancing. The only reason she's going is because Heather McNamara insisted since Veronica somehow made Heather Chandler come and so now she had to suffer with the three of them.
She gripped Heather McNamara’s yellow suit and buried her nose into her styled hair.
Why did it have to be her? Why did she have to be born in the wrong body with all the wrong parts? Why couldn't she just be comfortable? That's what everyone else got. So she was the one who had to puke her guts up and hate her body?
“Hey. What's going on in that pretty little head of yours? Can you tell me what you're telling yourself?” Heather McNamara murmured.
Heather Duke hesitated. She didn’t want to burden her but it’s not like she could just say she was crying for no reason at all. Plus, she really wanted to talk about it.
“That I don't like my body. That's it's not the same as a normal girl and that it's a boy's body,” Heather Duke tried to muffle the incoming sob. Her green nails dug into her thighs, leaving little crescent marks on her skin.
“Anything else?” Heather McNamara gave six quick kisses on the tip of Heather Duke's nose, gently prying her long nails from her legs.
“That I'm not skinny enough and I don't have the right curves and my hair doesn't grow fast enough,” She used her hands to desperately cover that damn bulge. She pressed hard and fuck it hurt.
“Can we take a couple breaths?” Heather McNamara gently questioned, the ever so rational one. “And maybe not say that you're not normal like it's a bad thing?”
Heather Duke took a shaky breath the way she knew the smaller girl always did. Four in, hold for two, eight out. She did it again and again. Her tears slowed just a bit.
“Good. Now, let's talk. Baby, you are a girl. I promise. I've only ever seen you as a girl. Even without breasts or with short hair. Your body does not define you. My sweet baby girl,” Heather McNamara rubbed her back soothingly. Up and down then back up again.
Heather Duke's lip trembled and Heather McNamara peppered her face with kisses, “Look in that mirror. You have breasts. Your nails are painted. You're wearing girl's underwear for Christ sakes. Your hair looks feminine. You look like a pretty, pretty girl and your genitals don’t change that.”
Heather Duke couldn’t love her more in that moment. The way Heather McNamara just threw around that word like it was nothing but still made sure to emphasise it. Just for her.
“Okay.”
Heather McNamara ran her fingers through Heather Duke's hair and they sat there for a little longer before Heather Duke got up, feeling just a little better. With shaking hands, she shoved her body into a newer training corset and slipped into her dress. She made sure to focus on what the blonde had told her.
Think about something that wouldn't bother her. Focus on facts. She could do that.
Heather Duke had wanted to do a couple’s costume from Clue but Heather McNamara hadn't watched it, so she dressed in a suit instead, much to the disappointment of the brunette.
“Just to appease all the ignorant assholes who think lesbians need to be masculine,” she had said.
“You're not a lesbian,” Heather Duke had pointed out at the time and Heather McNamara just smiled and said that being pansexual and lesbian are close enough.
“You sure you're up for this?” Heather McNamara murmured.
“Yeah. I can do it,” Heather Duke responded as she turned around and moved all her hair to one shoulder as an indication of ‘zip me up’. Heather came over and closed the dress with a long satisfying ziiiip, sighing gently as it hid Heather Duke’s back.
She rushed on her makeup and hair tutorials so that they would meet up with Heather and Veronica on time, hand gripping tight to her girlfriend’s the whole time, even when it got inconvenient.
She looked on last time in the mirror and Heather McNamara came behind her to rub her shoulders.
“You look so beautiful. I promise, Heather,” she assured gently.
“I'm a girl,” Heather Duke smiled gently. Nervously.
“Damn right. And your pronouns are she/her.”
She thought she looked good too. Maybe she did.
Maybe her hair wasn't too short. It did reach past her underarms, after all.
Maybe she wasn't too big. Maybe she was just right and even needed to gain some weight.
Maybe she didn't need hips like the other girls.
Or maybe that she did want to have hips and long hair.
And maybe Heather would be with her the whole time. Through recovery and all.
Probably.
Notes:
Sooo... Eight chapters is probably my limit. I'm sorry, I just don't have any other ideas that would be original/non-smuts. Thank you for reading to the end!!!
Lol, I'm so sorry for the cringy (mostly) happy endings!! I know it's cheesy and weird, but I really believe that all trans people deserve a happy ending and too many youths die because of not being the typical cis/het/allo. Letting the characters in my fanfictions, while still having their issues, is the least I can do to add.
Please keep living and loving yourselves, y'all. You have my full support to be who you are.
AmeliaThe1st on Chapter 8 Mon 28 Jul 2025 07:13PM UTC
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DancingSpiderFlyingButter24 on Chapter 8 Mon 28 Jul 2025 08:50PM UTC
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