Chapter Text
One thing people may not know about Kris Guštin, is that he absolutely doesn’t believe in the supernatural.
Magic, monsters… even the horoscope: he prides himself on being a man of science, of intellect and analysis, so whatever people believe exists without proof, without a solid scientific explanation behind it - be it aliens or ghosts or the influence of planet’s alignment on human behaviors - he just dismisses it as ‘false and useless crap’.
Another thing people may not know about Kris is that he is very good friends with the lesbian couple that live in the apartment next to his, so much that he is often invited over by the two women for dinners or movie nights.
Why should this piece of information be relevant for the story we are narrating, you may ask?
Well, fact is: the two women that live in the apartment next door are witches. And very clumsy ones, it seems.
Because since Kris moved in and befriended the couple, since starting regularly frequenting them and living in their proximity (sharing a wall and all), inexplicable things have started happening to the guitarist that even his analytic brain can’t exactly find the immediate cause and reason for.
For example, there was a time when, seemingly overnight, some pink and purple, iridescent and slightly glowing mold or fungus appeared on his wall, the one he shared with the couple next door: he debated with himself if he should call someone about it, do pest control or check on the internet if anyone else in the neighborhood has had similar experiences, but by the time he had his breakfast and was ready to snap a few good pictures of the infested wall, the fungus was completely gone, so fast that he reasons he must have imagined it, in his still half-awake and coffee-deprived state.
The only two things that followed the strange apparition that didn’t make much sense and were seemingly too weird not to be in some way correlated were: his doorbell ringing to announce that his kind neighbors had left a delicious looking apple pie outside for him, with a note that curiously read ‘eat me before it gets too bad’ and the fact that, during the course of the day, his libido and sex drive rose and dropped frequently and at odd intervals.
Come evening he had had to orgasm five times (at least two too many for a healthy young man in a little under 10 hours), feeling more and more exhausted, but less and less sexually satisfied, until in his tired and absolutely starved state he remembered the gifted cake and devoured more than three quarters of it: almost instantly, he felt better.
Good enough to fall asleep on his couch and wake up a few hours later, rested and completely ‘healed’ from his previous predicament.
Another time Jure was over for videogames night when his neighbors came by to announce they were back from a small trip they had taken to celebrate their anniversary: Kris invited them in and introduced his bandmate to them.
They chatted for a few minutes until two things happened in quick succession: Jure kindly plucked what looked like a cat’s hair from one of Kris’s neighbors sweater’s sleeves, and right after that the drummer had to run to the bathroom, barely holding in a nasty coughing fit. By the time Kris went looking for his friend, his neighbors had excused themselves to go back to their apartment, exchanging a quick glance between themselves that Kris thought looked curious.
Kris let them go with a smile and a promise to come over for dinner some time, then knocked on the bathroom’s door to check if Jure was okay: his friend didn’t reply for a long time, until Kris heard a weird sound coming from inside his bathroom. A sound that resembled an acute meowing.
When he opened the door, panic slightly rising in his throat, he didn’t find Jure anywhere inside his considerably small bathroom, but in the drummer’s place there was a small, orange cat sitting on the closed lid of the toilet, meowing pitifully.
This prompted Kris to keep panicking, because suddenly he had a cat in his apartment that he didn’t know how it got in and where it came from.
Everything was solved half an hour later when he thought of giving the poor little creature, who hadn’t stopped screaming its tiny lungs out in desperate mews, something to eat: he didn’t have any milk in the house though, so he went to ask for some from his neighbors.
And yeah, the milk (that came in more like a vial than a bottle, to be fair) had a strange smell and an even stranger color, but the tiny cat lapped it up greedily until the last drop, which probably meant it was a product made especially for growing kittens.
Kris left the cat to enjoy his meal in the peace and quiet of his kitchen and, when he came back a few minutes later, he found Jure sitting at the kitchen table, checking his phone. When he asked the drummer where he had gone for almost one hour, Jure looked confusedly at him, affirming with surety he had always been there, waiting for Kris to come back to resume their game. Even more strangely, the cat had disappeared and never came back again in the following days and weeks.
All in all, Kris is not exactly preoccupied or even scared about these random, odd happenings, but the fact that he can’t find a sense in them makes him… anxious: he prefers dismissing them as soon as their ‘effects’ are over, not thinking about them too much.
This, in the long run, also helps him forget about them a little.
So much so that when something else, some other ‘strange’ thing happens, it feels completely new and oddly familiar at the same time.
But, for the life of him, he can’t exactly pinpoint how or why.
That is mostly why, when one morning Kris wakes up feeling very strange, he doesn’t immediately think that the cause of it could be the lovely dinner and even more lovely long drinking and gossiping night he’s had the previous day with his neighbors: no, he just thinks he is probably coming down with something.
So he gets up from his bed, feeling sluggish and like his limbs aren’t exactly collaborating with him as they should, reaching his bathroom in a few wobbly steps to look at himself in the mirror.
Except when he gets there he realizes that, very oddly, he doesn’t reach the bathroom mirror at his usual height. In fact, he has to stand on his tippy toes to look into it and, when he is finally able to glance at his reflection, he lets out a startled shout so loud (and so unexpectedly acute) that he falls backward, hitting his back on the edge of the tub before landing on his ass on the floor.
Weird reaction, you’d probably say: well, in fact, the only possible reaction to what Kris has just seen in the mirror, which is the confused, borderline scared face of a girl.
Why is there a girl in his bathroom’s mirror?
Wait, no way there is a person inside his mirror. It must have reflected something weird when he looked into it… but since he was the one looking into it…
He slowly, carefully lifts his trembling hands to check them: they feel the same, but they do look a bit different, smaller somehow. His fingers are still long and slender, but more… delicate, maybe?
He takes a deep breath to calm himself down and decides to take an even greater risk by placing both hands on his chest and, sure enough, there are two soft… bumps under his palms that weren’t definitely there the day before. Or ever, in his life.
Swallowing down a fit of panic as best as he can, he glances downward to be met by his own hands cupping what look like a pair of small, smooth and pink boobs protruding from his own chest.
“ Oh my God! ” he cries out, hearing his own voice and panicking even more because he doesn’t sound at all like his usual masculine one.
Kris coughs twice and tries again: “ What the fuck!? ” he croaks, but once again he sounds way too high-pitched than normal.
Oh, this is so odd… so weird. So impossible .
There is only one last thing to check, something he dreads even more greatly than having spontaneously grown boobs overnight.
Kris doesn’t really have other choices: he has to check if his dick is still where it’s supposed to be.
So with even more trembling hands he slips his fingers under the waistband of his boxers, closing his eyes in fear and concentration trying to grasp at… something.
Except there is absolutely nothing to grasp.
He lets out another anguished, panicked scream.
A few minutes later, find him (her?) completely naked in front of the full-length mirror on the inner side of the closet’s door, checking his ( her!? ) new appearance.
Kris is now a girl.
There’s no way around it, he transformed overnight into a girl, which shouldn’t be possible, but must be in some way since it happened .
And he does not look like a generic, standard woman either: he looks like himself if he was a girl, clearly, because he is basically a taller, older version of his teenage sister, but with shorter hair, bluer eyes and his more distinctive traits, like his slightly crooked nose and all his array of scars and moles still in their place.
Speaking of taller, he is a good 20 if not 25 centimeters shorter than his male version, which is what’s sending him into a greater fit of panic than the sudden sprout of tits and female genitals. Why should he be shorter in his female form!?
Trying to set yet another panic attack aside, probably the third or fourth in under one hour, he tries to think reasonably (or as reasonably as possible, given the circumstances) about what must be done, or tried, to get out of the situation he’s in.
First and foremost, he has to get dressed.
All his clothes fit way too big and long on his smaller, thinner female frame, but he manages to find a t-shirt from his teenage years in which he doesn’t look like a Victorian Era child in a nightgown and a pair of shorts that he keeps around because they are tight (and slutty) enough on his male body’s ass that he likes to use them for his annual one-time-only hit of the gym (where he fakes wanting to become a better, healthier version of himself for one day, but somehow always scores a date or at least comes home with a few new numbers in his phone’s contact list).
Once somehow dressed, he has the quickest breakfast he can manage before diving into a deep internet search about his current predicament.
Unfortunately, after almost two hours perusing sites, forums and threads, all he can find are mentions of magic (ew!) or useless fiction (or worse, fan-fiction) pieces of media that don’t really give him easy or doable solutions he could maybe try in the short term.
He is ready to give up completely and accept the fact he has to call his friends and family to announce he is now officially a girl (fastest transition ever , lucky him) when he hears the doorbell and suddenly feels the dread of having to somehow get the door in his brand new form.
Kris approaches the hallway carefully, hoping the person on the other side of the front door is someone who doesn’t know him, like maybe a mailman or a delivery guy.
“Who is it?” he asks, deepening his voice as best as he can.
“Kris dearie, it’s us!” call his neighbors from behind the door, so he sighs and opens it carefully, only a small crack, just enough to say: “What is it? Sorry I can’t let you inside, I don’t feel very well and I don’t want you to catch it.” he mumbles, even faking a little cough.
“Cut the crap, love. We know you’re not sick, just a girl.” says the other one of the couple, making him squeal in surprise.
He opens the door wide and exclaims: “ How do you know!?” in complete desperation.
Apparently, they know because they caused it.
Because they are witches and they use magic daily, just sometimes in the wrong way.
And since yesterday they were a bit tipsy and they were listening to equally tipsy Kris droning on for hours about his unrequited, ten years long crush on his best friend and bandmate Bojan, they decided in a giggly and reckless moment to turn him into a girl.
Why a girl, you ask? Because apparently everything tipsy Kris could come up with as a reason for never having been able to be the sole receptacle of Bojan’s affection is being a guy. And apparently, in his unhinged drunk mind, Bojan is too much not into guys to be into Kris, despite them having been all shades of friends with benefits for years (and Bojan having repeatedly and thoroughly appreciated Kris being a guy in that particular department).
Kris of course does not, or at least shouldn’t believe any of these things his neighbors are patiently trying to explain to him.
Magic doesn’t exist, that’s only logical.
But there is a vagina now where his penis normally is, so trying to find a scientifical, logical explanation to what has happened to him is not, right now, the real priority.
The priority is to get the hell out of this situation before having to let more people know about it, considering he has a meeting with the band and the crew the next day and he definitely wouldn’t appreciate having to sit through it looking like this .
Except when he asks for an antidote or a counterspell, his two friends exchange a long look and reveal that there isn’t one that works in the short term.
“ What !? I can’t stay like this, I have work! I have concerts!” cries Kris in utter desperation.
“Honey, this isn’t an easy type of enchantment, you must realize…” tries to explain one of his neighbors, while the other intervenes to save the escalating panic rising in Kris’s brain.
“The effects usually last between one week and one month, but there is one thing that can speed up the recovery process.” she says, trying to sound calm and analytic for Kris’s sake: “But you will need the help of your boy for that.” she adds.
Kris considers this brand new information for a few seconds before asking: “For what exactly? Like a… Disney Princess’s True Love Kiss or something?” he scoffs, almost managing to sound derisive.
“Kinda, but not exactly.” she replies and wait… they are both blushing now.
Why are they blushing now?
Basically, as they explain it, Kris has 24 hours to have sex with the object of his deepest, most secret desires (both ironically and unironically one Bojan Cvjetićanin) to get back to normal if he doesn’t want to wait a whole week (or worse, a whole month!) for his body to magically grow his penis back.
Which is of course unfortunate because it means that Bojan has to know about Kris’s current condition, feeding into his ‘Kris’s most embarrassing moments through the years’ mental database even more, but at the same time it’s somehow a relief, because sex with Bojan is actually somehow easily attainable, in comparison to, for example, having to embark on a quest through a fairytale land to retrieve a magical healing potion or having to seduce someone harder to approach and obtain, like a celebrity crush (and wouldn’t that be the worst case scenario for him to finally meet Margot Robbie?).
Kris is also fairly sure that Bojan would be the last person on earth to be repulsed by the idea of having sex with Kris in his female form. The man is bisexual and kind of a pervert (the good kind, of course).
Also, the reason why sex is the main solution to his neighbors’ spell should be interesting to discover, but that’s definitely a topic of discussion for another time.
Now Kris has to kindly ask the two witches to vacate his premises before sending his bandmate the quickest, lousiest come-on known to mankind (literally a ‘Horny - come over - let’s fuck’ three lines text. No need to beat around the bush, really).
Needless to say, Bojan’s affirmative reply arrives almost faster than it takes for Kris to hit send. And the boy is ringing his doorbell not even 15 minutes later.