Gwen

You and James slip quietly into the dark house, the pharmacy bag rustling in his grip. Your heart pounds as you pad down the hallway toward Gwen’s old bedroom—the door is cracked, soft lamplight spilling out. She’s home, awake.

James hangs back a step, breathing already ragged. You push the door open slowly.

Gwen is curled up on her bed in tiny sleep shorts and a cropped tank top, scrolling on her phone. She’s always been petite—barely 5’2”, delicate frame, slim waist flaring into soft hips, small perky breasts pressing against the thin fabric, long legs tucked beneath her despite her short stature. Her dark hair is loose over one shoulder, framing a heart-shaped face with big green eyes and full lips. She looks up—and freezes.

Her earbuds drop from her ears as she scrambles to sit upright, clutching her phone like a weapon.

“Who the hell are you?!” she hisses, voice sharp with alarm. “How did you get in here? I’m calling the cops right now!”

You raise your hands quickly. “Gwen, it’s us! It’s me—your brother—and Jess. Well… Jill. Something insane happened.”

She stares, eyes darting between your feminine body in the too-short summer dress and the tall, broad-shouldered stranger behind you whose sweatpants do nothing to hide the thick, insistent bulge straining the fabric. Confusion wars with fear on her face.

James shifts his weight, jaw clenched so tight you can see the muscle jump. His gaze is locked on Gwen—raking over her tiny, half-exposed body, the way the cropped top rides up to show a strip of smooth stomach, the shorts barely covering the curve of her ass. His hands flex at his sides, knuckles white, like he’s physically holding himself back from lunging across the room and pinning her to the mattress right then and there.

Gwen notices the hungry way he’s staring—and shrinks back against the headboard. “Stay away from me,” she warns, finger hovering over her phone screen.

You step closer, voice gentle but urgent. “Gwen, please, just listen. We got a curse—some anonymous caller. I woke up like this, Jill woke up as… him. We have 48 hours, and the only way to break it is…” You hesitate, then **** the words out. “He has to impregnate someone. If he doesn’t, we’re stuck forever. But the catch is, I'm also stuck as a woman if I get pregnant in the same 48 hours.”

Gwen’s eyes widen further, flicking again to James. He’s breathing hard now, chest rising and falling, sweat beading at his temple as he fights the curse-fueled urge. His cock twitches visibly against the gray fabric, and he mutters a strained “Fuck” under his breath, turning slightly to hide it—but not before Gwen sees.

“So let me get this straight because I'm kinda hoping I misunderstood everything - you’re asking me,” she says slowly, voice rising in disbelief, “your little sister who literally just turned nineteen and started sophomore year, to let that stranger—that guy who’s looking at me like he wants to rip my clothes off—get me pregnant? Are you insane?”

You sit carefully on the edge of the bed. “We’d support you completely—financially, emotionally, everything. You wouldn’t have to do it alone.”

“No,” she snaps, hugging her knees to her chest, making herself even smaller. “I love you, but no. I’m not throwing my life away for some magic bullshit. Go find someone else—anyone else. There is ladies night at the bar downtown today. There's surely a horny dumb girl who still believes it when a guy says he's got pullout game”

The rejection hits hard. James’s control looks paper-thin; his hands are shaking.

You exchange a glance with him. He gives the tiniest nod toward the hallway.

“You're right Gwen, we shouldn't have asked. We’re sorry for scaring you,” you say softly. “Let us make it up to you. Want some tea? Chamomile—your favorite. We’ll calm down and talk more if you want. And afterwards we'll head out to the bar like you suggested.”

Gwen hesitates, still wary, but eventually nods. “Fine. Tea sounds good. But I’m keeping my phone ready.”

You both retreat to the kitchen. The moment you’re out of sight, James braces against the counter, head bowed, breathing like he’s run a marathon.

“She’s so fucking tiny,” he rasps. “I almost lost it. I can still smell her.”

While the kettle heats, he quietly crushes a Frenzy Tab into fine powder and stirs it into Gwen’s mug with honey—quick, practiced motions. You watch, guilt and desperation churning in your stomach. Gwen has a point. Can you really doom your own sister to be a teenage single mom at the beginning of college? It's your life ruined vs hers.

Gwen pads in a minute later, bare feet silent, still clutching her phone. She accepts the mug with cautious thanks and takes a long sip.

Twenty minutes.

You sit with her at the table, making awkward small talk about college and about your transformation while the under the counter **** works its way through her system—and James sits across from her, knuckles white around his own mug, every muscle coiled tight as he fights the urge to take her right there on the kitchen floor.