#i was wondering if more donations would happen since the surgery date and apparently not | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

awyeahitssam · 4 years

Text

I wrote a “Stiles is transformed into a girl” AU earlier, but it turned out to be just smut. So here’s this - the same universe in snippets.

“Goddamn!” Stiles shouted, kicking the examine table hard enough to leave his miniaturized foot aching.

“Wow, looks like she’s already PMSing.”

While any comment like Isaac’s not-so-quiet mutter was in poor taste, it was especially so considering the news that had caused Stiles’ outburst.

“You and your misplaced judgement can fuck off, because I was just told that I will never be my parents son again.”

“Wow, hate women much, Stilinski?” Jackson sneered.

“Oh, fuck off!” Stiles snapped. “I like and respect women plenty. That doesn’t mean I’m cool with suddenly turning into one.”

“‘Like’ and ‘respect,’” Erica mimicked. “That sounded a little sexist, Batman.”

Stiles stared at her, openly disbelieving. He glanced around, but nobody seemed like they were about to step in and rebut that particular sentiment. So he took a deep, settling breath and did what he did best, because, as always, nobody else was going to.

“How would you feel if you traded in your breasts and vagina for a dick?”

Erica blinked, taken aback. After a beat she opened her mouth, but Stiles continued before she could respond.

“Sure, maybe it’d be cool at first, but after a few hours or days that novelty would wear off, and you’d want your own body back. Y’know, the body you’ve lived in for eighteen years, and grown a little fond of.”

Erica was flushed, but that could’ve been caused by anything from remorse to indignation at being chided in front of the entire pack. It wasn’t like he could smell her emotions; if she wanted him to stop, she would have to use her words. Anyway, it had been a long couple of days and he needed to vent a little.

“Calling me sexist, of all things, because I want to have the body I was born in back is ignorant and just plain stupid. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go find somebody with an explanation beyond ‘it’s irreversible’.”

Stiles snatched the taser from his purse and waved it threateningly. “Back the fuck off, dude. You’ve never been interested in me before, so I’m going to go ahead and assume this is more of a ‘I’d like to get my dick wet’ scenario than a ‘wow, Stiles, you have such a great personality, let’s date!’ sorta thing. Not that I’d be interested in the latter, but still.”

If anything, Isaac looked more amused. He stepped forward, and Stiles fought the instinct to pull back. He was smaller than he should’ve been; he’d never been shorter than Isaac before. Still, Stiles had stood up to bullies that were bigger and stronger than him all his life. This wasn’t the same, but it wasn’t so different, either.

Though the fact that Stiles now had to worry about his so-called packmate ignoring what he said and trying to get into his pants regardless pissed him off immeasurably.

“It’s just sex, Stilinski. What, are you still a virgin or something?”

Like Isaac hadn’t been a virgin himself before Derek bit him.

What a douche.

“Seriously dude, fuck off.”

Isaac’s face twisted into something bemused, like he couldn’t understand the word no. Which, seriously? Stiles had always thought Isaac was an asshole who believed he could get away with anything if he pulled out his traumatic childhood membership card, but this was a little extreme.

“Are you seriously turning down a chance to test out your new parts? What kind of guy are you?”

“I’m starting to wonder what kind of guy you are, Lahey. No means no. I’m not having sex with you, so drop it and move out of my goddamn way.”

For a moment Isaac went unnaturally still. Predator still. Stiles tensed, preparing to use both the taser and aerosolized wolfsbane Allison had given him. If he took even one step closer, Stiles wouldn’t hesitate.

Perhaps he smelled the violence rising in the air, or maybe Isaac had just decided to take no for an answer. Either way the werewolf gave Stiles a lingering glance, turned on his heel, and slunk back into the preserve, presumably off to practice his wolfy abilities with the others.

“My, my, you really do enjoy facing down predators, Stiles.”

Stiles turned, unsurprised to find Peter leaning against one of the house support beams. He frowned.

“Yeah, apparently a bunny predator and a sexual predator. Thanks for stepping in, there, zombiewolf.”

Peter shrugged. “You had it handled.”

Stiles sighed, rolling his shoulders and stuffing the taser back in his bag. “I can deal with Lahey if I have to. And apparently having boobs means I’ll have to.”

Peter met his eyes when Stiles looked up from scowling at his breasts. The man seemed faintly amused, but there was something beyond that.

It seemed the hungry gleam in Peter’s eyes remained whether Stiles was male or female. At least one person didn’t change the way they looked at him, but in his current state the gaze made him feel vaguely vulnerable. And god damn, did he hate that.

Stiles had long since been aware of his comparative weakness to the wolves he ran with, but knowing and seeing were different things. He was several inches shorter and about twenty pounds lighter than he had been, his coordination thrown even more out of wack by his newly proportioned limbs. His reach was less than it had been, his gait wasn’t right, and when he tested swinging his baseball bat his breasts did some uncomfortable swinging as well. Apparently, he needed a bra.

Lydia takes him shopping first thing Friday, because of course she does. Stiles only allows it because it seems he’s going to be in this body a while, until he can prove Deaton wrong, so he might as well buy some pants he doesn’t have to hold up by a belt without enough notches.

“That skirt is just, like, deliberately short!”

He ends up with three pairs of jeans, a pair of sweats, some cargo shorts (because apparently those are the only kind that don’t stop mid-thigh), a couple of hoodies, and four tank tops.

He considers throwing his favorite red lacrosse sweatshirt over it like he normally does, but it’s been getting hotter and he’s seen plenty of women jog in sports bras. At this point, it’s whatever. Stiles just needs to get some of this energy out before he shakes to death or something.

So naturally when he’s taking a break to catch his breath on mile three, Peter materializes at his side, nursing a cup of coffee with a book tucked under his arm.

And he raises a brow, as if to comment on Stiles’ poor endurance, because of course he does. Dick.

“Are you really coming to the woods to read?” he asks, slowly straightening out. His side is still cramping, but he doesn’t want to be in the perfect position for Peter to peer into his bra, even if the man had yet to look away from his face.

“Yes, I enjoy my coffee exclusively with woodland creatures,” Peter sasses back. Stiles smiles, just a bit, because for the first time in days somebody is treating him normally. Even if it is Peter, and his brand of normal is often a bit creepy. “What are you doing in the woods, Stiles? The big bad wolf might find you.”

It wasn’t a new joke, but--”I’m not Little Red.”

“No,” Peter sighs dramatically, “You’ve done away with your hoodie. I suppose I’ll have to find another young man to coax away from grandmother’s house.”

Man. Young man.

Stiles lets out a breath he wasn’t aware of holding and walks forward, shoving at Peter’s arm. It doesn’t budge, holding the coffee stead, and Peter looks surprised at the casual touch. “Replacing me so easily? Thank god.”

Clever lips curl. “I could never,” the werewolf replies, before waving him on. “Enjoy your run, Stiles.”

Stiles grins back, quick but genuine. “Enjoy your book, dude. Later!”

And he’s off.

Stiles looks down at the sundress laid across his bed and feels the air stutter from his lungs. This dress had been reserved for the long summer days of his childhood, before sickness had taken his mother. He remembers balancing on her feet as she spun them around the living room, both singing at the top of their lungs. He remembers her kissing the shirt over his heart and telling him that he was her favorite person in the world. He remembers trying to swing higher than her and failing in the nearby park, and how she had always laughed at his pout and said, “It isn’t a competition if I don’t try, Mischief!”

Stiles had forgotten he had stashed it in the back of his closet when his father had been gathering all Claudia’s things to donate or store in the attic.

“Stiles?” Scott called, knocking on the door. “Dude, you alright in there?”

“I—” Stiles took a deep breath, tearing his eyes from the dress and going to his closet. “Yeah, I’m… I’m good. Just give me a few minutes to change.”

“There’s sex reassignment surgery,” Lydia mentions one day, five weeks in. Stiles is in the middle of reading over the translated Latin she’d just handed him, and only makes a vague sound of comprehension.

“Stiles!”

“What?” Stiles snaps, glaring up at her. He blinks a few times, processing what she’d said, and shakes his head. “No, Lydia, I - I want my body. Besides, that's not something I could ever afford, not with the debt we’re in.”

“I have money, Stiles,” she says nonchalantly, and it’s probably unreasonable, how that makes him want to break things.

He takes a deep breath and looks her in the eyes. “I’m getting my body back, Lydia, and I’m not taking your money.”

“Stiles, you need to stop. I hate to say this, but you need to hear it, okay? You’re never going to be a guy again. Deaton said as much, and it was okay at first, you trying to prove him wrong, but this is getting out of control. You’re skipping classes, talking to Peter, and playing around with some seriously dangerous stuff. Stuff Allison’s dad would probably put a bullet through you for! Stiles, you’re going to be in a girl’s body for the rest of your life. I just don’t want you making all these shitty choices to go along with this shitty thing that happened to you. I care about you, man… you’re like my - my sister. So please stop. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“Your sister?” Stiles snarled. “I’m not a fucking girl, Scott, female body or not. My mind is still male--”

Sorry to leave off there, but it’s all I’ve got. Stiles definitely shuts Scott down with his rant, though.

#peter/stiles #In that it's a part of the same universe I wrote smut for earlier #Let me tell you #writing 7 pages of smut is not my style #this is my style #snippets I'll never post on AO3 because I'll never finish them #female!Stiles #but not at all actually #ever heard of body dysmorphia #that shit blows

44 notes · View notes