Mom Jeans and Diapers The Remote of Transformation chapter 7 by ThePanswapticon

The night air slapped them both as the club doors thumped shut behind them. Dylan—now a tall, curvy blonde in a clingy red dress—staggered onto the sidewalk like the heels were landmines. Steph—now an eight-month-old baby with the mind and voice of a pissed-off 22-year-old on helium—wobbled in his… her?—arms.

“What the actual hell, Dylan?!” The baby’s voice rang out like a high-pitched cartoon character overdubbed with raw rage. Heads on the patio turned. A guy at the valet stand nearly dropped a key fob.

Dylan hugged Steph closer, panic all over his newly glossy face. “Don’t yell! People can hear—”

“Of course they can hear! I sound like some goddamn Pixar sidekick!” Steph flailed tiny arms, slapping the soft swell of Dylan’s freshly grown chest. “And what the hell is this?!”

Dylan looked down, wincing at the squeeze. “Ow, you're hitting my boobs!”

“No shit!” Steph shrieked, little legs kicking. “Why do you have boobs?!”

Dylan twisted in the reflection of a parked car, almost dropping her. A stranger’s face stared back—flawless makeup, perfect waves of honey-blonde hair, hips that jutted out like they’d been Photoshopped. His Adam’s apple was gone. His jaw was all smooth curve.

“Oh my God. Oh my God.” He patted his hips. “Oh, this is—this is not okay. Steph, I have a—” He cupped his crotch. “Wait, I don’t have a—oh hell no. No, no, no. This is some nightmare—”

Steph jabbed a tiny finger at his nose. “You think you’ve got problems? I can’t even stand on my own! I’m wearing a goddamn diaper, Dylan! And I’m wet! Wet!”

“You peed yourself?”

“It’s not my fault! This stupid baby bladder can’t hold anything! Oh my God, I’m gonna kill whoever did this—”

Dylan set her down carefully on the hood of a car, almost losing balance on the heels. He yanked them off and threw them onto the pavement. “Alright, okay, let’s—let’s think. This is… this is temporary, right? It has to be. Nobody stays like this. It’s probably, like, a drug thing, or—”

Steph crossed her chubby little arms—well, tried to. They barely reached her sides. “A drug thing? Dylan, I’m a baby! You think some pill turns your girlfriend into an infant with a fully functioning brain?!”

Dylan groaned, pushing long hair from his face. “I don’t know, Steph! I don’t know anything! This is insane! Look at me—I’ve got cleavage!” He pulled the neckline of the dress, staring down like it might answer back.

Steph smirked despite herself. “Guess now you know what it’s like to lug these around. Welcome to the club, blondie.”

“Don’t call me blondie.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, would you prefer ma’am?”

He glared down at her. “You’re impossible even as a baby.”

“And you’re still an asshole, just with better legs.”

They both paused. Dylan ran a hand over his new curves again, face twisting. “Oh my God… I can feel everything. Like the wind, Steph. The wind is brushing against my thighs and it’s—” He stopped, blinking. “—way too much.”

Steph rolled her tiny eyes. “Congrats, you’re finding out why every woman hates summer dresses.”

Dylan’s breath hitched. “Is this… is this permanent?” His voice cracked—high and feminine now, like he was always on the edge of a moan. “Steph, what if this doesn’t go away? What if I’m just… like this now?”

Steph squirmed on the hood. “Oh, don’t even start. What about me? I’m drooling! Look at this! My hand-eye coordination is garbage! I couldn’t even pick my own nose if I wanted to!”

Dylan laughed despite the panic, which made Steph glare daggers.

“You’re enjoying this.”

“No, I’m not!” Dylan was clearly trying not to grin. “It’s just… seeing you throw a tantrum while being an actual baby…”

Steph shrieked. “Don’t you dare laugh! I will bite you, Dylan! I will gum your ass raw!”

“Gum my—?” Dylan started laughing harder.

Steph slapped his chest again, which only made him laugh more. “Stop jiggling, dammit! I can feel your boobs move. That’s—ugh—unnatural.”

“Like you’re one to talk!” Dylan gestured at her tiny body. “You’re wearing a cartoon duck diaper, Steph. This is next-level surreal.”

“Then figure out how to fix it!”

Dylan froze. “What if I can’t?”

The words hung there, heavy.

Steph’s lower lip trembled—not baby crying, just fear slipping through. “No. No, this isn’t permanent. We’ll… we’ll go to a hospital or something. Someone will figure it out.”

Dylan shook his head, hair bouncing like shampoo-commercial perfection. “And say what? ‘Hey doc, I woke up hot and my girlfriend’s a baby, can we get a prescription?’”

Steph snorted. “Fair point.”

They both stood (well, Dylan stood, Steph sat) in silence. Dylan rubbed his new arms, goosebumps rising as he realized how sensitive his skin felt—every brush of the breeze, every shift of his dress.

Steph caught it. “You feeling weird?”

“Everything feels… different.” His eyes flicked to her, embarrassed. “Like, the air? My body feels… softer. And heavy in the front. And my stomach’s twisting, like… like—”

Steph grinned with zero sympathy. “Welcome to period cramps, Dylan. You’re probably just now understanding why I yelled at you last week for calling them ‘mild discomfort.’”

Dylan winced. “Oh… oh God, this sucks.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” Steph folded tiny arms again. “So. What now? Are we stuck like this?”

Before Dylan could answer, a breeze swept down the street, ruffling his dress. He shivered, realizing he wasn’t even wearing underwear under this thing.

“Okay,” he muttered. “We need a plan. Fast.”