Crossdreams: TG Captions and more

Who would ever worry about being “chosen” for a dream vacation at the beach ? Well… Brian did. And with good reason. For starters, he didn’t remember entering any contest. It wasn’t even his vacation time. And worst of all — that sun-kissed body lounging by the pool wasn’t his . When the Great Shift happened, everyone was caught off guard — literally switched into someone else’s body. Brian just happened to wake up in a luxury resort, trapped in the body of a woman who was clearly ready for some serious rest and relaxation. For three long days, no one came forward to claim the body. All Brian could piece together about the real owner came from the phone’s biometrics: a few selfies, social media chats, and the name registered at the front desk. Everything was already paid for — the full vacation package. It would’ve been perfect, if it weren’t so… weird. So, he did the only thing that made sense: he called home. His wife, thankfully — or perhaps cruelly — was one of the few not a...

When I first heard the rumors—your “retirement,” the sudden move to another continent, that luxurious mansion by the sea—then the mysterious “niece” stepping in to run your empire... I knew exactly what had happened. “You actually called that number on the card, didn’t you?” I asked. A soft laugh came from the other end, smooth and melodic. “Very perceptive of you, Daniel. I thought after those six months, you’d forgotten all about that strange little episode.” “Forgotten?” I exhaled. “I was just waiting for the confirmation. What did surprise me was that you—of all people—decided to swap bodies with a woman instead of some young guy.” “Well,” she— he —paused. “Those six months of waiting weren’t exactly by choice. None of the young men I approached wanted to trade their youth for luxury. And I was growing impatient… eager to see if the experiment would really work. Then she appeared. Said she’d do anything for her family, that she needed money more than anything else. I hesitated...

“Alright, young man, turn off that video game. It’s way past your bedtime.” “What? Dude, you know very well you’re not my mom. You’re just temporarily in her body until we figure out how to switch you back.” “I know, but I have to keep up appearances. I only agreed to that body-swap spell to help you out, remember? I didn’t expect the reversal to fail.” “Yeah, well, my mom thinks the whole thing was some kind of cosmic freak event.” “Exactly. Only the three of us know what really happened. Your dad still has no idea, which means we need to act like everything’s perfectly normal.” “‘Normal’? You call that normal? Look at what you’re wearing!” “What? It was in her wardrobe. Technically, it’s my wardrobe now. I just decided to… try it on.” “Try it on?! You look like you’re about to star in a perfume commercial!” “Well, someone has to keep the character believable, don’t you think?” He sighed and dropped the controller on the couch. “This is getting weirder by the minute…” “W...

“I’m starting to wonder if this was really the best choice…” “Come on, it was either adding things or removing things from us, remember?” They both laughed,  the kind of laugh that hides a little panic, while posing for yet another photo under the golden lights of the Velvet Mirage Casino. Once upon a time, they were just two unlucky gamblers who thought they could beat the house. Then came the debt. Then came the “offer.” “When the boss said we could work it off by ‘adding new assets,’ I thought he meant... financial ones!” “Yeah, and when he said we’d ‘light up the stage,’ I didn’t realize he meant literally in sequins and heels!” Now, with lashes longer than their to-do lists and smiles brighter than the slot machines, they’d become the casino’s most glamorous cautionary tale. “At least he said if we keep smiling, the debt goes down faster.” “Then start smiling, babe, because I still owe him three months and a pair of earrings.” They clinked their pink cocktails and struck anoth...

When Elliot lost his job, he thought it was the end of the line. After years trapped in the same gray routine, being laid off felt like life itself had pulled the rug from under him. That’s when his friend Marcus stepped in with a simple offer: “Come stay with me for a while. Help me around the house, and we’ll figure things out.” Elliot agreed. At first, he just did the basics — dishes, laundry, cooking whatever didn’t burn. But slowly, something shifted. He started making schedules, labeling shelves, even comparing cleaning products like a scientist. Before long, the place was spotless — and for the first time in months, so was his mind. What began as a favor became a mission. And then one day, he thought, half-jokingly: “If I’m going to do this, I might as well look the part.” Laughing to himself, Elliot put together a “modern butler” outfit to surprise Marcus when he came home. That house already had the shape and order of a masculine presence. What it lacked was the opposite ...

Julian heard the click of heels coming down the hallway. When the sound stopped, he turned around — and almost dropped his glass. “Dude… what the hell are you wearing?” Leaning casually against the doorframe, Brian brushed a lock of hair from his shoulder, still clearly not used to the heels. “Well, I got dressed. Weren’t we going out?” he replied, trying to keep his balance. Julian blinked. “Yeah, but… like that?” “Of course!” Brian said, striking a playful pose. “These were the clothes in your wife’s closet. I mean, technically it’s my closet now, right?” “It’s not your closet,” Julian snapped. “It’s hers! I still believe the scientists are gonna fix this whole Great Shift madness .” Brian shrugged. “From what I’ve seen online, it’s permanent. And honestly? I’m getting used to it. After all the cosmetic work your wife had done, it’d be a crime to hide any of this. She clearly wanted to show it off — and I totally respect that! The new tenant in this body is me now.” Julian rubbed h...

Julie opened the door and froze, unable to believe what she was seeing. There, right in front of her, stood “her sister” — or rather, her sister’s body — dressed in red lace lingerie and striking poses in front of the mirror with alarming focus. Julie cleared her throat loudly. “Would you care to explain what’s going on here?” Alan , now inhabiting Jannet’s body, jumped a little and turned around, visibly flustered as he tried to cover what was already covered. “Well… I have a date tonight with your sister’s boyfriend. Technically, he’s my boyfriend now, isn’t he? You were the one who said we had to keep up appearances until we figure out how to switch back.” Julie folded her arms, irritation sharp in her voice. “I know all about keeping up appearances, Alan. It’s been a week since you two swapped bodies. But wasn’t it you who, two weeks ago, was desperate to undo all this? The one who kept ranting about how awful it was being in her body — especially after she disappeared with your bo...

I used to say those girls on the field were just there for “decoration.” “You want real action? Watch the game, not the sideshow,” I’d tell my buddies, rolling my eyes every time one of those promo girls came on screen. Guess who woke up this morning in full glam, holding a soccer ball, wearing a crop top so tight I can hear my abs breathe? Me. I did. Apparently, I “won” some magical fan promotion. Out of millions , I was chosen to be today’s stadium muse — and not just as a muse, but in the body of one. Hair, curves, outfit and all. I even have her schedule: enter the field at halftime, strike some poses, hype the crowd, and “don’t forget to smile.” And the worst part? I think I am smiling. The sun, the cheers, the way people looked at me like I was the event — it’s weirdly addictive. My old self would be screaming. But right now? I’m just hoping someone took a good picture of me.

I’ve tailored suits for senators, wedding dresses for celebrities, and gowns for women whose last names I won’t dare repeat. But her ? She walked into my shop like a storm in heels — hair perfect, voice like velvet, and a strange antique necklace dangling from her fingers. She said she wanted a custom piece. Something... unforgettable. While measuring her, she smirked and asked, “Ever wonder what it’s like to design for yourself, from the other side ?” I scoffed. She laughed. Then handed me the necklace and told me to “try it on for inspiration.” So I did. And now I’m looking at my old grumpy face in the mirror — from hers . And let me tell you something… designing a dress is very different when you’re the one in lace, heels, and garters, trying not to breathe too hard or smudge your lipstick. I’ve got until midnight to finish her gown. My old self (now possessed by her , I think?) will be coming back for the final fitting. And if the seams aren’t flawless? Let’s just say I...

 It was supposed to be a casual 10K. Just me, the park trail, and my usual playlist. Then she showed up — that chatty girl with the colorful sports bra and the messy ponytail. Said she was a beginner, just trying to “find her pace.” I rolled my eyes, wished her luck, and took off. But somewhere around kilometer three… something weird happened. The sky shimmered. The ground hummed. We crossed this old stone arch that was never there before, and then— Boom. I'm her. And she's me. That was three weeks ago. I haven’t seen her since. I’ve tried everything to reverse it — doctors, meditation, even posting in conspiracy forums. Nothing. So… this is my new routine now. I stretch. I lift. I take mirror selfies like this because apparently her followers expect it. I eat protein pancakes. And yeah… I work that treadmill like it owes me money. You know what’s crazy? I feel amazing. Her body is strong, agile, addictively photogenic . I get stared at every time I jog past a guy gr...

I created her. Every pixel. Every curve. Every tattoo. She was supposed to be my custom rogue assassin in Eclipse Core VR , the most immersive virtual reality experience ever made. Facial tracking, sensory feedback, real emotions — they said it would “blur the line between you and the game.” I just didn’t expect the blur to be permanent. One second I’m booting up the simulation, testing the final build of her dialogue tree — I even added a sultry voice and a sarcastic attitude. Next thing I know? Blackout. Reboot. And I’m her. Standing knee-deep in this glowing neon lagoon. Wearing… well, that . With her voice echoing from my mouth, and her thoughts leaking into mine. “Confidence is a weapon, darling,” I just heard myself say. Except I didn’t mean to say it. It’s like she’s still in here — watching, smirking, influencing every step I take. The devs are offline. No emergency logout. And the “personality override” was turned up to MAX for testing. Now I’m stuck in this bom...

I'm a backend developer. I write code, I debug, I avoid sunlight. My idea of “socializing” is sending memes in Slack. So explain to me why I just woke up in a luxury penthouse, inside the body of LIA LUX , one of the biggest fitness influencers on the planet. Millions of followers. Viral TikToks. Yoga at sunrise. Collabs with protein brands I can't even pronounce. I’m in bright blue leggings so tight I can feel every breath. My phone keeps buzzing. Comments. Mentions. Live in 2 hours , it says. Wait. Live?! I try to cancel it. No luck. I try to act normal, but the mirror says otherwise — high ponytail, flawless skin, body made of angles and curves. I don’t even know what half these workout poses are called! I open her DMs looking for help, and they're full of: “Queen, can't wait for your new glute circuit!!” “Will you show us your new protein smoothie recipe today??” “You’re such an inspiration!!” Great. If I mess up, I’ll destroy a brand, a career, and possibl...

I used to strut through the office like I owned the place. Technically, I did . CEO. Corner office. Executive parking. And if one of the interns got uncomfortable with a comment or a lingering stare? Not my problem. Then came her . Emily, the receptionist — always smiling, always polite. But yesterday, she gave me a strange look when I made another “joke” in front of the team. Said I should “walk a mile in her heels.” I laughed. This morning… I woke up in her body. No joke. Blouse buttoned tight, skirt hugging curves I never had before, heels that feel like medieval torture, and a dozen eyes watching me the second I step off the elevator. I know those looks. I used to give them. Now I can’t walk across the lobby without someone calling me “sweetheart,” or pretending not to stare at my legs. And guess what? Emily’s sitting pretty in my office. She winked at me and said, “Just for a week. Learn something.” Lesson. Very much. In progress.

Yoga Swap Confession #1 “Bro, yoga’s just stretching. How hard can it be?” Famous last words. My girlfriend dragged me to her morning class. I rolled my eyes, flexed a bit, and told her I’d dominate it. The instructor — this calm, smiley woman with a voice like warm tea — welcomed us in, lit some incense, and said we’d be trying a “chakra-alignment mantra” today. Cool, whatever. I mumbled the words. Then everything tilted . Now I’m walking out of that same class... but not as me . I’m her. The instructor. Tight joggers, soft top, yoga mat over my shoulder, green juice in hand — the whole deal. I can feel the stretch in my legs. I can feel the breeze on my waist . And I just found out I have a beginner’s class to teach in ten minutes. Oh, and my girlfriend? She didn’t switch. She’s laughing. Hard. Namaste, I guess.

It wasn’t just water hitting his skin — it was a whole new body learning how to feel. The storm came out of nowhere. One second Kyle was walking home from work, hoodie pulled tight, muttering about the weather — and the next, a flash of lightning lit up the sky. Then the world tilted. When he opened his eyes again, he was flat on the ground — only... it wasn’t his body that had landed. The rain was warm on his skin. His soft , delicate, unfamiliar skin. His hoodie was gone. His entire body was sleek, toned, wet from head to toe, wrapped only in a lacey dark bra and underwear that clung to every curve. His hair was long, soaked, falling over his shoulders like a waterfall. He sat up slowly, staring at the rain glistening on his thighs, sliding across his belly, catching in the delicate fabric hugging his chest. The cold drops kissed every inch of skin — but instead of discomfort, it sent a chill of something else down his spine. Across the park, a woman was stumbling to her feet...

Sometimes, walking a mile in someone else's sneakers... means squats, glutes, and a whole new perspective. Derek was used to being in control. Every rep, every lift, every drop of sweat — calculated. He trained like a machine, and his personal trainer, Marla, always pushed him harder than anyone else. Maybe that’s why he snapped at her during their last session. “You think it’s easy just standing there yelling corrections?” She raised an eyebrow. “Wanna switch places, tough guy?” He didn’t think she meant it literally. But now… he was her . Tight navy blue set hugging her (now his) toned body. Long ponytail flicking behind him. Hips that swayed way more than he expected. And that booty? Let’s just say the gym mirrors didn’t lie. Marla, now in Derek’s tall, muscular frame, leaned against the dumbbell rack smirking. “Still think it’s easy?” He rolled his— her —eyes and strutted over to the bench. “Alright, trainer. Let’s see how you handle my routine.” The workout that follow...

 The envelope was sealed in red wax and had no return address. Just one line written in flawless handwriting: "Spend a day in someone else’s skin — and maybe in their shoes, too." Luke thought it was some kind of prank. But when he opened it, the room spun, his knees gave out, and when he looked down — it was not his body standing there anymore. Full curves, smooth skin, a lacey blue set hugging every inch of his now stunning figure. And the reflection in the window? A woman. No — a goddess . Across the city, Julia had just finished adjusting to his jeans and flannel shirt. She laughed when she found the mirror selfie app still open on his phone. “Guess you’re checking yourself out too,” she texted. The message popped up on Luke’s—no, her —phone. He hesitated, then smirked and wrote back: “Can you blame me? You gave me a lot to work with.” What followed was a full day of playful texts, flirty dares, and voice memos with exaggerated impressions of each other. Luke took her b...

He didn’t just see her reflection. He became it. Ethan only came by to grab the keys. His grandmother’s house had been empty for months, and the realtor needed to clear it out. But as he walked through the main hall — the one he always avoided as a kid because it gave him weird vibes — he stopped in front of the old mirror. Someone was there. Staring back. But it wasn’t him. It was a woman. Blonde, calm expression, wearing a delicate black lace pajama set that clung just right to her figure. And somehow, she mirrored his every move — until she didn’t. There was a flash. A twist. And Ethan dropped to his knees — though the sound wasn’t heavy or clumsy, it was soft. Graceful. Feminine. When he stood back up… he wasn’t Ethan anymore. The reflection told no lies. Long legs, soft curves, silky blonde hair — and the satin and lace brushing across sensitive skin in a way he’d never felt before. He ran his fingers through the golden strands, across his narrow waist, and couldn’t help bu...

Entry #1 – I Don’t Think This Is My Room… or My Body I was supposed to wake up in a cheap hotel in Lisbon. Alone. Jet-lagged. Probably regretting my last-minute flight. But when I opened my eyes, I wasn’t staring at cracked ceiling tiles and a squeaky ceiling fan — I was looking at hand-carved wooden beams, silk curtains... and two very unfamiliar legs. Slender, smooth, bronzed. Definitely not mine. And then I saw the mirror. Long, wavy brown hair. Sharp cheekbones. Deep eyes. Lips slightly parted like they were mid-confession. And that red lace thing I was wearing? It clung to this new body like it belonged here. Like I belonged here. I panicked. For about ten minutes. Then I stepped out onto the wooden porch, the morning air cool against my skin, and something in me... settled. The sun filtered through the trees just right. The scent of lavender drifted from the garden below. And this body — whoever she was — breathed deeply, like it had waited forever to exhale. There was no ...

"This is ridiculous..." Jared mumbled to himself, adjusting the delicate lace along his hip for what felt like the hundredth time. It was supposed to be a harmless experiment — just a prototype mind-swap test at the office. A quick switch between colleagues for a few hours, just to gather data. But then the system glitched, and now here he was: trapped in Camila’s body, standing half-dressed in her apartment, trying to figure out what to wear for a first date … that she had scheduled for tonight. Of course, Camila (now in Jared’s body) thought it was hilarious. “Just wear something cute and try not to scare him off,” she’d texted, adding a laughing emoji. Easy for her to say — she didn’t have to pick between three dresses and wonder which one matched this lingerie. He glanced back at the mirror, lips slightly parted, a playful smirk forming. "Well, I already picked what goes under ... now I just need to figure out what goes over ." It was weird. He should feel...

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...