Crossdreams: TG Captions and more

Mr. Harris used to live by strict routines. Coffee at 6:00, school by 7:30, silence at home after 5. He taught literature, loved old books, and barely remembered what it was like to be twenty. That is… until the swap. One moment, he was grading essays. The next, he was staring at a mirror in someone else’s apartment — someone very young, very female, and definitely one of his students. He panicked at first. Who wouldn’t? But now, only a few days later, things were… different. Calmer. Stranger. Freer. Tonight, he found himself lounging on her chair, in her cozy room, wearing her oversized glasses and her favorite socks pulled up over smooth legs. A half-read textbook lay open on the desk, and a mug of chamomile tea steamed gently beside it. He knew he should be freaking out, trying to fix this. But instead… he was reading poetry aloud in a soft, curious voice. Taking mirror selfies when no one was looking. Letting his hair fall messy and loose. He even started painting his nai...

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It was supposed to be a joke. Just a dumb comment at the wrong time. A bit too much ego, too little empathy. And then boom — punished. Rafael had always been a bit full of himself. Thought he knew everything about women. Thought he could say anything without consequences. But whatever that old woman muttered under her breath at the market clearly wasn’t just a curse out of frustration — because he woke up the next morning in this body. Long brown hair. Long legs. Long red nails. At first, he panicked. He tripped trying to walk. Nearly poked his eye putting on mascara. Couldn't believe how tight some clothes were — until he accidentally found this outfit. A pinstriped skirt, matching top, and a belt that screamed attitude. He stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the outfit. “If I’m gonna be stuck like this for a day or two, might as well get a feel for it,” he muttered. He picked up the phone, angled it just right, and snapped the selfie. And then he paused. There was s...

Lucas woke up to the soft morning light spilling across the pale walls. Still groggy, he sat up—only to feel the silky fabric of a robe slide across his now much smoother skin. It took a second to remember: this wasn’t his body anymore. He padded barefoot over to the window, the cool floor sending a little jolt up his spine, and sat down by the small desk. The robe flowed over his legs as he crossed them, and he caught a glimpse of himself in the reflection—long blonde hair, soft curves, and a sleepy but undeniably feminine posture. “Okay... this is definitely real,” he muttered. He picked up the tiny cup of coffee waiting on the tray, took a sip, and almost laughed. Strong. Bitter. Exactly how Mariana took it. But somehow, drinking it now felt... good. Like it fit the moment. He wasn’t just trying her body on—he was slipping into her morning routine too. Down the hall, he could hear her—Mariana, in his body—probably opening drawers, looking confused, maybe wondering why his so...

"I seriously have to go out like this ?" he asked, staring in disbelief at the reflection in the mirror—or rather, her reflection. "Oh, come on! Weren’t you the one telling your little buddies that I wore short clothes just for attention?" her voice came through the phone, dripping with sarcasm. "Well now it’s your turn. You bought the outfit, now you wear it. I’m lending you my body—let’s see how it feels to have every pair of eyes on you!" He sighed deeply, tugging at the hem of the skirt even though he knew it wouldn’t make much of a difference. "Okay… what if I just don’t go out? We switch back tomorrow, and I swear, I’ll never say a word about your outfits again. Deal?" "Deal. And next time? No body swap. You’re wearing the mini skirt in your own body. Let’s see how confident you really are." He rolled his eyes, adjusted the purse strap on his shoulder, and stepped out, the sound of heels echoing down the hallway. Deep down ...

"John, seriously? Ever heard of knocking first?!" — This is the room I booked to stay in with my wife . Why would I knock? — Because, after that freaky body-swap incident, you’re not walking in on your wife anymore — you’re walking in on your nephew . Brian? Ring a bell? — That may be, but it’s still Sylvia’s body. And I’m not about to sit back while someone else does God knows what with it. Especially with the door locked and no one answering. You really thought I wouldn’t check? — Well, now you’ve checked. Happy? I was just... trying on some of my “new wardrobe.” Let’s be honest, Sylvia’s not here. Not in my body, not in this hotel. She could be anywhere — across the street, or across the damn ocean. — I already know where she is. She called me in a panic. Turns out she’s in Romania — stuck in the body of some little boy. We’re figuring out how to get her back. — Damn. So… we’re gonna have to adopt her? — We ? — I mean, legally, I am your wife now, aren’t I? — T...

🌴 Travel Diary – Day 4 on Fantasy Island Look… this was supposed to be a joke between friends. We signed up for this wild vacation package to a place called Fantasy Island , where you get to live out a “personalized experience.” We picked the theme “tropical paradise with stunning women” , thinking we’d all turn into rich playboys living the dream. Well, turns out the system here takes things very literally. Since it’s a shared fantasy , the whole group got transformed to fit the scenario. So yeah—six of us turned into bikini babes (yep, I’m one of them), and one guy became the wealthy yacht owner. And just for the record: I’m not enjoying this, okay? This is all just... part of the package. A cultural experiment. 👀 Okay, fine. I’ll admit it—the new body is insane, the mirror loves me, and every walk on the beach feels like I’m starring in a music video. The drinks are amazing, my back’s never felt this good, and don’t get me started on the clothes. Seriously, they’re addictive....

Dude, we booked this vacation package to a place called “Fantasy Island.” The name already sounded kinda suspicious, but the deal was too good to pass up: an immersive experience where everyone in the group would live out a shared fantasy. The only rule? Everyone involved had to agree on the theme. There were seven of us, all friends, and we went with a “tropical paradise full of gorgeous women” kind of vibe. You know, like those rich old guys on yachts surrounded by stunning models? That’s what we thought we were signing up for. Each of us imagined ourselves as a wealthy playboy living the dream. But yeah… we skipped the fine print. Turns out, a "shared fantasy" meant the whole group had to play roles within the same scenario. It wasn’t seven individual fantasies—it was one big scene we were all cast into. So guess what? Out of the seven of us, six ended up becoming the yacht babes… and one got to be the filthy rich yacht owner. And yep, I’m one of the “unlucky” ones wh...

It’s been three weeks since my life flipped upside down — or maybe I should say inside out . I was just out here fishing, minding my own business, enjoying a quiet afternoon and the salty breeze like any good early retiree would. Then it happened. I spotted the fish. Not just any fish — a massive, glowing, almost mythical creature that looked straight out of a fantasy novel. I cast my line, thinking I was about to land the catch of a lifetime. And in a way… I did. There was a blinding flash. A strange pull. I blacked out. Next thing I know, I'm standing waist-deep in the water, rocking a body that looks like it belongs on a beach calendar, wearing a tiny bikini I definitely didn’t own before. My name used to be Richard — now everyone calls me Riley . I don’t even know if the paperwork still says otherwise. Every morning since, I’ve been out here again. People probably think I’m just another bikini-clad influencer trying to score views with some “girl power fishing” content. If ...

Gabriel crossed his arms — or rather, the very feminine arms he now had — and sighed. “You answered everything right. Every question, every detail. You're definitely still you.” He motioned to himself, exasperated. “And I'm... this. This overly sensual version of me. That blue underwear I used to wear? It turned into this runway lingerie. A cursed fashion statement.” His friend stared, stunned. “How did this even happen?” “My ex. She said I had a toxic mindset. Always spouting nonsense like ‘boys wear blue, girls wear pink.’ I refused to wear pink — and now? Anything I wear turns hyper-feminine. But still blue. Like some twisted joke.” “Anything you wear?” “EVERYTHING. I put on jeans — they became sheer tights. Shorts and a t-shirt? Turned into a babydoll. Even a hoodie transforms into a tight dress. I literally can’t leave the house.” “But why you? Why didn’t she do this to someone else?” “Because you’re the only one who still calls me Gabriel. Everyone else… they all c...

Dr. Vincent Torres was a brilliant but discredited scientist. For decades, people mocked his obsession with time travel. They said he was wasting his life — and ironically, that was exactly what he was trying to master. He worked alone, day and night, tucked away in a secluded mountain lab. And now, at last, his creation was ready. He had calculated every variable, fine-tuned every energy field, tested every theory. He knew the only way to prove his machine worked was to use it himself. His destination? Fifty years into the future. Before entering the capsule, he left behind a secure encrypted message in a trusted bank, with clear instructions and a well-crafted investment portfolio. If everything worked, his wealth would be waiting. He set the date. Took a deep breath. And activated the machine. A flash. A hum. Dizziness. When he opened his eyes, it wasn’t what he expected. The place was strange — soft colors, floral wallpaper, an elegant yet old-fashioned room. And more disturbin...

When the Great Shift struck, millions around the world found themselves in unfamiliar bodies. Among them was Jake , a laid-back guy in his mid-twenties, who suddenly found himself in the sleek, youthful body of Camila Reed —the same girl who had very publicly rejected his advances just a few weeks before. The irony wasn't lost on him. Still reeling from the shock of the transformation, Jake stood in front of the mirror in Camila’s bedroom, adjusting the soft gray dress that hugged his new figure. He grabbed her phone, opened the camera, and posed instinctively. The mirror selfie he took looked like something straight out of her Instagram feed—elegant, confident, slightly flirtatious. He sent the picture to his best friend Ryan , still in his original body, with a cheeky caption: "So… I’m in the body of the girl who ghosted me. And guess what? I still don’t want anything to do with you." Ryan burst out laughing on the other end, quickly replying: "Damn, man. Cold. ...

— Tyler...? — the voice came out higher than it should have. — What… what did you do?! The boy stared in shock at the man in front of him — or rather, the woman his father had become. — Dad… you changed too, Tyler said, his voice now soft and strangely unfamiliar. His former father rushed to the nearest mirror and went pale. — No. No… This can't be real… I have… breasts?! — Yeah, I noticed, Tyler replied, slowly sitting down on the couch, resting his now delicate hands on his smooth, crossed legs. — I think that gypsy’s coin actually worked... — The coin? That thing she gave you on the side of the road? the woman in front of him asked, still not used to her new, sweet-sounding voice. — I just… I wished for the boys at school to stop bullying me and to actually like me… Tyler mumbled, visibly embarrassed. — And… I wished you didn’t have to work so hard all the time. That someone could take care of you, like Mom used to… before she was gone. Silence. They looked at each...

Jonathan had always been a master of epic battles. With his dice neatly stored, his character sheets laminated, and a special talent for crafting twisting plots, he was a respected figure in the tabletop RPG group that gathered religiously every Saturday night. Even after the Great Shift — that cosmic event that shuffled billions of people into different bodies — he never missed a session. After all, dragons don’t slay themselves. Only now, his presence at the table had… a different kind of impact. While most of his friends barely changed — a little shorter here, a bit grayer there — Jonathan had been one of the “lucky” ones. Instead of returning to his usual thirty-something body with a bit of a beer belly and scruffy beard, he now inhabited a much younger frame: slim, long-haired, flawless skin, and a fashion sense straight out of a geeky influencer’s Instagram. Apparently, the universe had a sense of humor. At first, it was awkward. Sitting at the table with a stylish crossbody b...

Mike was betraying his best friend. It had been going on for a few months — something that, at first, seemed impossible, but slowly became part of his routine. Brian, his longtime best friend, was always busy, traveling for work, away for long periods. And in that empty space, Barbara, Brian’s wife, found an opening. One that Mike, although hesitant at first, eventually stepped into. It started with innocent visits, turning into slightly more intimate conversations, until one afternoon when Brian was away, the inevitable happened. Since then, their apartment — modern and spacious — became the stage for secret encounters. Barbara kept saying the marriage was dead, and Mike, torn between guilt and passion, kept going along with it. But that day... everything went wrong. Brian had a last-minute change of plans. He never even boarded the plane. He jumped in his car and drove straight home, without warning. Inside the apartment, Mike and Barbara were in the bedroom, relaxed, until they h...

“You got what you wanted, didn’t you?” Clara crossed her arms, watching Mark stand in front of the mirror — now looking exactly like her. “Finish getting dressed, pick a nice outfit. The one underneath is already decided.” Mark swallowed hard. The lace bra felt a bit tight, the garter straps tugged gently at his thighs, and the long hair kept falling into his face with every movement. It still felt like some surreal dream. “Clara, I…” “You told me to accept my boss’s ridiculous offer,” she continued, clearly annoyed. “You said that if you were in my shoes, you’d take it without hesitation. Well, now you are in my shoes. And if everything goes well, you’ll come back with my promotion — and I won’t have to humiliate myself.” Mark turned slowly, wobbling slightly on the high heels. His hands — now small, slender, unfamiliar — wrapped around his arms in a nervous gesture, trying to ground himself. “Come on, Clara… I was joking.” “Joking?” She scoffed. “You practically called me a co...

"Good morning, sunshine," said Dan in an overly feminine voice, standing by the door with one hand on his hip and a teasing smile on his lips. Mike lifted his head slowly from under the covers and stared in disbelief. Dan, still stuck in his mom’s body, was wearing a silky purple nightgown with lace details that left very little to the imagination. “Dude… are you serious right now?” Mike muttered, rubbing his eyes like that would somehow make the vision disappear. “What?” Dan replied, pretending innocence. “I knocked.” “You opened the door while knocking! That doesn’t count!” said Mike, sitting up. “And what the hell are you wearing?” Dan looked down at the outfit proudly. “Oh, this? Just something comfortable. Your dad said last night, ‘Honey, it’s been a while since you wore anything sexy for me,’ so I figured, why not give the man what he wants?” “You didn’t have to take it that literally!” Mike said, panicking. “That’s my mom’s—!” “Body? Yeah, I noticed,” Dan cu...

"What are you staring at?" The voice was sharp, irritated — but undeniably feminine. Ryan turned, caught off guard, finding himself face to face with... well, himself . Long wavy blonde hair, smoky eyes, and red lips twisted in annoyance. The tight grey top clung to her curves, and the high-waisted denim shorts didn’t leave much to the imagination. "You know damn well this curse didn’t just turn me into a woman... Every time I put on clothes, they turn into some ridiculously short and revealing version. And don’t even get me started on the makeup — it’s automatic. Over-the-top glam mode. I can’t even wear a hoodie without it becoming a crop top." Ryan swallowed hard, trying not to look directly at her… lower half. "We need to find that witch, Nate. Seriously." Nate crossed his arms under his chest and raised a brow. "No reason? You really think she cursed me for no reason?" Ryan hesitated. "Okay, maybe flirting with her all night, igno...

When they saw her approaching from a distance, the girls exchanged uneasy glances. The confident stride, the daringly short skirt, the sharply tailored cropped blazer… everything about her — formerly him — defied the logic behind the punishment they had devised. This was supposed to be a consequence, not the start of a new fashion era in self-discovery. They had done it together, in secret, on a night marked by tears, long-standing frustrations, and the kind of solidarity that only forms when patience has run dry. Turning their boss into a woman had seemed, at the time, like a symbolic — and effective — way to make him rethink every toxic word, every invasive look, every inappropriate dress code he had enforced with smug superiority. It was magical justice. Revenge. But now there she was — elegant, confident, strutting down the sidewalk like it was a runway during fashion week. And the strangest part? She was smiling. Not with irony or mockery, but with a calmness that left the girls...

The dressing room lights reflected off the silver sequins of the tight dress as Elliot adjusted her wavy hair in front of the mirror. Her hand extended in a firm gesture, stopping Charlie mid-step. — “That’s enough,” Elliot said, her tone serious, not matching the glimmer in her eyes. “Just because I agreed to go to the party with you so people wouldn’t think you were a loser… doesn’t mean we’re doing anything beyond what we agreed on.” Charlie leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, not hiding his disappointment. — “But at the party… you kissed me. You were flirting. You even called me ‘babe’ more than once. How can you say now it was just pity?” Elliot averted her gaze for a moment. She knew that night had been different. Intense. Fun. Strangely natural. — “Yes, but… that doesn’t mean I have feelings for you,” she muttered, her voice losing firmness. “Just… gratitude. You’ve helped me a lot since that crazy ex of mine turned me into this. And… yeah, you’ve been taking good...

"See, Ben?" he said, lifting the fabric slightly. "Not as short as it looked. Plenty of coverage. Got it?" Ben leaned against the cool marble wall, arms crossed. His eyes darted between his friend—now trapped in a stranger’s body—and the elevator doors. "Not convinced," he muttered. "And you’re enjoying this way too much for someone who got body-swapped by cosmic accident." Alex laughed softly, spinning to make the skirt flare. "Look on the bright side: I could’ve woken up in a sixty-year-old or someone in Siberia. Instead? I’m Lily—twenty-two, five-foot-five, and kinda cute if I say so myself." His tone mixed irony with fascination. "As for my old body... when I woke up alone in her apartment, I figured we’d stake out the lobby. If the real owner’s out there, she knows this address. She’ll call. Or show up. Or—" "—Or she’s in China drinking tea with your meat suit," Ben finished, rubbing his neck. "But why camp...

This story is part of the TBP series, read part 1 here . The third time was a shock. Matthew woke up feeling the soft touch of lace lingerie against his skin. The vanity mirror in the room reflected soft makeup lights, and for a moment, he thought he was in some kind of commercial set — until he realized this was real. He was real. And the body in the mirror… was Janna's . The sensation was absurd: smooth skin, a narrow waist, pronounced hips, and that face — perfectly made up, radiating a confidence he’d never imagine having. But there it was. He was her. His son’s girlfriend. The girl from the social media pictures. The woman now staring back at him in the mirror. Matthew sat in silence for what felt like forever, trying to understand how he could even move, breathe, think. And still… he felt full of energy. As if he had turned back time — not just in body, but in spirit, in presence, in sheer vitality. It was maddening. “She has no idea what this means for me... An...

This story is part of the TBP series, read part 1 here . He woke up again — but this time, with a jolt. The room was different. Brighter. Tidier. More… youthful. But it was the body that spoke first. Matthew felt the energy coursing through him even before opening his eyes. His breathing was lighter. Muscles responded quicker. And as he sat up, everything felt effortless. No aches, no heaviness, no hesitation. Youth. A body buzzing with vitality. He walked to the mirror, both dreading and needing to confirm what he already suspected. Emily. There she was — the daughter he still thought of as “his little girl,” now staring back as the body he inhabited. And what he saw was striking: a confident young woman, beautiful, with soft features and a spark in her eyes that didn’t come from him, but from the life Emily was shaping for herself. Then the discomfort hit. The question that pierced through everything: “Where is my daughter now? And… who’s making her choices?” Because it wasn’t jus...

This story is part of the TBP series, read part 1 here . He woke in silence. Not like someone emerging from a dream — but like someone realizing they were trapped inside another. The room was the same. The bed, the furniture, the lingering scent in the air. But the perspective had shifted — and more than that, the presence had changed. Matthew tried to move, but something felt… off. His balance was different, his arms slimmer, his center of gravity displaced. And then he saw it. First the hands, then the smooth, feminine arms. And finally, the reflection in the full-length mirror in the corner of the room. Claire. The image staring back was that of the woman he’d shared decades with. Only now, he was the one inhabiting her . Flawless skin, soft curves emphasized by the white lingerie Claire had chosen just hours before. Dark hair cascading down the shoulders, eyes — her eyes — trying to process the impossible. Panic surged alongside the memory. The rule. The broadcast. The ...