#bodyswap

idc if it's not a person. if your icon is a sunrise, you're a sunrise now.

Trixie and RainbowDash have another Idea

I hate this body. Every damn day I wake up feeling like a jelly-filled balloon is a reminder of that shitty night a year ago. I'm Jackson, or at least, my brain is. But the rest... this soft belly, these legs that feel like logs, this round face I don't even recognize in the mirror... that's Billy. My stepbrother. The shy otaku who now walks around in my body, with my muscles, my damn conqueror face, and on top of that, he's become as arrogant as I used to be.

This morning was the same. It took me forever to get out of bed (my new bed, in my new room that feels like the back room of a manga store, filled with figurines with giant eyes and garishly colored posters that give me a headache). Billy, the bastard, was still sleeping in my old room, now converted into a luxury sports sanctuary. Trophies, expensive sneakers in display cases, everything tidy and perfect. As if he'd earned it.

-Billy! Gym, now!- I yelled, running up the stairs. My voice still sounds like a whistle, weak and ridiculous in this body. Nothing like the deep, confident tone I had before. Silence. I checked the empty bathroom. Nothing. Only one place remained: his room. My old room.

I hadn't been in for a year. Since the "incident" that happened at the mall, with the thousands of people surrounding me, I had to end up in my stepbrother's disgusting body. The government says they're still working on a cure, but in the meantime, living here has become unbearable. I don't think my father will ever be proud of me. You can see it in his eyes that the son, the captain of the football team, is no longer me, but Billy. I can see it in the awkward silence at dinner. But we didn't talk about it. As if ignoring it would fix it. I took a deep breath and opened the door.

The contrast left me feeling dry. Where once there had been adolescent disorder, now reigned the military order of a professional athlete. Gray walls, a huge poster of LeBron James, everything spotless… but floating beneath that smell of cleanliness and new clothes, there was something else. Damp. Acidic. Familiar. My sweat. The sweat of my old body. It came from a laundry basket next to the closet. On top, a black compression shirt. My shirt. I recognized it instantly by the small rip near the seam.

Something inside me snapped. Before I knew it, I bent down (my knees protested under the weight) and grabbed the shirt. It was stiff in places, sweaty. A raw impulse, stronger than disgust, took over. I pressed it against my face. Against this nose that isn't mine. I sniffed deeply.

God. That smell. Stale sweat mixed with a trace of my old deodorant. It was me. The real me. The one from the gym, the one from the games, the one who felt invincible. For a second, I closed my eyes, and I wasn't in this sack of meat. I was sweating, alive, strong. It was like a drug.

The illusion lasted a blink. The rough fabric against my fat cheek, the cold of the floor beneath my bare feet, the awkward position… brought me back to reality. This reality. I sat up quickly, dropping my shirt as if it were burning, shame scorching my face.

In the closet mirror, I saw the monster: Billy (my body), crouching, with the face of a desperate fat man smelling a dirty T-shirt. Pathetic.

-Where's that jerk?- I muttered, looking away from the mirror. I needed to get him out to train. I couldn't let him ruin my body completely. That's when I noticed. I instinctively looked at the floor next to the closet. The place where I always left my gym bag. The black Nike one, with the bleach stain. Empty. Just the clean rectangle on the floor, gleaming in the light.

A cold emptiness spread in my chest. He took it. He left without me. He used my bag, on my body, to go to my gym. Rage and helplessness cut through me like a knife. He was gone. And I was trapped here, smelling the remains of what I had been, while the impostor walked off with my life. The silence of the perfect room became deafening.

The grease stain on my baggy sweatshirt (how did it get there? French fries yesterday?) seemed to mock the rectangle of pristine floor where my gym bag used to sit. Stolen. Like everything else. I pulled my phone out of my pocket, the screen sticky beneath my chubby fingers. I typed furiously, my fingertip leaving greasy marks on the glass:

. WHERE ARE YOU? THE BAG'S GONE.

. I LOOKED FOR YOU. DID YOU GO TO THE GYM ALONE?

The reply was instant. Not a text. A photo.

I opened it, and my breath caught in my throat. It was Billy. Outside my gym, reflected in the black window of an expensive SUV. He was wearing my favorite T-shirt. My torso. My hard pecs rose like mountains against the fabric. But the focus was on my right arm. Flexed to the limit, my biceps were a ball of rock and veins popping out, my skin taut and glistening with fresh sweat. The grin on my face was pure arrogance: eyebrows raised, lip curled in a triumphant sneer.

. Relax, bro. Just stretching my muscles. No supervision needed.

I couldn't tear my eyes away. God... that body. My body. Sweaty, powerful, lit up like a fucking Greek god. A wave of heat, a mix of rage, envy, and something else... visceral, rose from my stomach. He looked... incredible. Too good for that asshole. I abruptly turned off the screen and pressed my hand down on my small penis, which was straining in my tight underwear.

The government doctor told us something like this could happen, that the gas was experimental, and that the body swapping was imperfect. I hadn't wanted to talk about this with anyone, but I know Billy, and I noticed it right away. I couldn't see girls the way I used to, and I couldn't see my old body or other men in the same way.

My phone vibrated like a hornet's nest in my sweaty hand. Billy. I rejected it. It rang again, insistent. Cursing, I answered.

-What?- I snapped, trying not to let my squeaky voice betray the jumble in my head.

-See?- The deep, confident voice that used to be mine echoed through the receiver, thick with sarcasm. "Impressive, huh? And without your babysitting help."

-You need me there!- I nearly yelled, squeezing the phone until it cracked. -You don't know the right exercises to maintain lower back definition! You're going to injure yourself or you're going to....-

-What are you going to do, Jackson?- he cut me off, his laugh sharp like broken glass. -Ruin my physique? Look at the picture again! I'm BIGGER than you've ever been! Thicker! The girls at the gym literally gasp when I walk by! The ones you used to chase are now chasing me! Even the new instructor asked me for advice!-

I felt a cold hollow in my chest. Bigger? Thicker? The image of that arm, enormous, vascularized... Was it possible? Was my body improving without me?

-You're hallucinating…- I muttered, but without strength.

-Hallucinating?- He snorted in contempt. -I'm a better Jackson than you ever were. More popular. Stronger. And yes, even smarter, because I've realized I don't need you. Stop pretending you come to the gym to "help me." -

-Pretending?- I protested, but he didn't let me finish.

-Yeah, pretending!- His voice rose, laced with cold rage -When was the last time you saw a machine up close other than the stationary bike? NEVER! You spend all your time standing there, staring. Just staring. At me. At the other strong guys. With that weird face... that intense stare, like you're counting their veins. It's weird, Jackson! Weird and pathetic! Everyone can see it! -

I froze. The blood seemed to freeze in my veins. He'd seen it. The others too? It was just... seeing my body in action. Seeing the strength I'd lost... But admitting it sounded worse.

-No... it's not like that,- I stammered, feeling the heat rise to my fat face. -I'm watching the technique…-

-Lies!- he spat in my ear. -You blush. You hide. You look like a fucking stalker. And the worst part.- he added, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper, -is having to constantly introduce you as my stepbrother. People thinking we share blood is embarrassing. Stop coming here. Stay home in your dirty clothes and your cold pizza. This body, this life, this strength…- he paused dramatically, -are mine. And I'm not sharing them with you. Not one more minute. Not one more look. Stop stalking me.-

Click!

The line died.

I remained silent, still kneeling in front of the laundry basket, for a few minutes. My mind was shattered, my thoughts empty, and all I had left was... this.

I rummaged through the laundry basket to find a dirty, yellowish jockstrap that was damp from being at the bottom of the laundry basket. I brought it to my face, filling my lungs with the mixed sweat, semen, and urine from my former crotch. I pulled out my small, uncut cock and began to jerk off. I no longer had any dignity to lose or an excuse to deceive myself. This is who I am now. I just wish JACKSON would let me be by his side a little longer.

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Read Part 1 here

It's been exactly two hours since Wesley had come home from his trip. In those two hours he had dumped his stuff, smacked me across the head, and then went to the gym.

Post trip workout. He'd captioned his recent post. The vanity he had was unreal sometimes. But that gave us enough time to prepare our ambush.

Considering that the Soul Cuffs that Caleb got migrates and mergees memories as information onto the soul, there were concerns that Wesley would end up being angry and confused when he's forced into Morty's body. And as excited as Morty was to take Wesley's place, he had hoped that his old life would be respected somehow.

Caleb... Or rather, Dad, ended up talking to Phil to make adjustments to the cuffs.

"These new ones should completely migrate Wesley's memories without leaving it in his soul's imprint. He might feel disoriented and feel that something's wrong. But it should pass after some time."

He hands one of the cuffs to Morty. "Of course, any memory of these body swaps will be carved out of Morty's body."

That should take care of any complications with Wesley retaliating.

Morty takes off his shirt and takes a good look at his body. Most likely for the last time as him.

"Are you sure about this?" Morty grins.

"Please. I've been sure for a long time. You've always been my brother as far as I'm concerned."

He lowers his hand over to his crotch and grasps it through his shorts.

"I'd be lying if I said I wasn't excited. You've seen your brother, right?"

I roll my eyes and groan. "Yeah, yeah. He's got the bod. Come on, let's get ready. Wesley's about to arrive at any moment."

~Smith Residence - Morty's Perspective~

I've always been fond of Jacob like a little brother. He was the first real friend I made when my family moved here. It wasn't long before his face was the only face I'd see most days because my parents are often out of town. And when they are home, they barely acknowledge that I exist.

When I first met Wesley, three things came to mind.

He's the one who keeps giving Jacob a black eye.

He really doesn't deserve what he has.

He is sexy as fuck.

The way those pecs of his squeeze tightly against those compression shirts he wears on a near daily basis? He must love torturing gay people. What a shame that he's a homophobic brat.

But we're going to change that. He didn't deserve that body. He didn't deserve a brother like Jacob. His trial run has ended.

It's time to correct this little error in pilots.

About an hour later, Wesley arrived home and stomped around like he owned the place.

"Jacob! Get over here and grab my stank ass clothes."

"Make me." Jacob was standing by the living room, his arms crossed. The sneer on Wesley's face pretty much said "Thanks for giving me a reason."

"A little too late to grow a backbone, my pathetic little brother."

He began walking over. I know Jacob must be scared, but he stood his ground as planned.

Before his hand could even reach Jacob's neck, Caleb had come around from the corner and locked him onto a chokehold.

"D-Dad? What are you-"

The zap from the stun gun echoed the room until finally, Wesley fell unconscious.

"Hurry. Before he wakes up." Caleb and I dragged Wesley's unconscious form onto the kitchen table, stripped him, and tied him down.

In full view, I can see my new home just waiting for me. He clasps the cuff on his wrist, causing Wesley flinch.

I walk over to my future body, giving his muscles a soft touch. Even unconscious, they were rock hard. I leaned over and touch his face. Soon, my face. "Thank you for keeping my body in good shape. I'll take it from here." I whispered, before giving him a kiss on the cheek.

I back away when he begins to stir.

"Mmm? What the hell?" Wesley struggled against his binds. "What are you losers doing? When I get out of this, I'm going to kill you two for-"

His body jerks upright as I clasp the cuff on my wrist.

"Initiating Soul Migration."

Wesley begins screaming, thrashing about in pain. It was way different from Mr. Smith.

"You little... fucks!" His force of will must be strong enough to let him resist for a bit. But eventually, he begins gagging. I could see the outlines of his soul start to exist his mouth before I felt heat begin to center on my chest. It felt like oil, or something. As if I'm about to puke out my own soul. I felt something crawl up from my throat and finally exit my mouth. I felt weightless, having been removed from my body.

Across from me, Half of Wesley was sticking out of his body, his soul wrestling to anchor himself to his former body.

"What's going on?" He panicked as he tried in vain to stay rooted before eventually being ejected. His body slumped down and he watched in horror as he's slowly being flung towards me.

"No, no, no, no, wait!" The collision of our souls felt strange. If we're non tangible spirits, why did it feel like I was touching his body for real?

"What the fuck?!" He screams, but no one but me hears him. His form is forcibly smooshed with mine. He could not move his limbs as his chest hits mine. I grab his ass from behind and push him toward me.

He grunts in confusion before his transparent dick colliding with mine, eliciting a moan from both of us. "Your time is over. You won't be harming Jacob anymore." I don't let him respond, just bashing my head at him and force our souls to phase through each other.

At the sight of my soul hands, I could see them morph into his calloused ones. I'm practically swimming as I force more of me through him. My head pops off from his back and I feel his angular head form on my face. His memories begin to surface in my head. All those times he was tormenting his brother. All that time spent bodybuilding. Quiet moments where he would think of his mother. That was the only good thing about his memories. Behind me, I could see his top half taking on my form as I take his pecs and abs from him. I felt his arrogance and confidence begin to meld with my personality. Something I should at least be able to temper. He cries out as we exchange dicks and eventually legs. His conquests race through my mind. Girls he'd meet. Guys that he he'd hide. He's been everywhere. Eventually, we finish phasing and take each other's form. My soul now rightfully Wesley Smith.

Behind me, The new Morty's soul seemed stunned before he's pulled in to my old body and me onto my new one.

The moment I felt air return to my lungs and I open my new eyes, I knew that I was him.

"Cut me loose." Caleb cut the ropes and I immediately run to the mirror.

"Mine..." I touch my new face, slowly inching down to every part of this body. I revel in my new, deeper voice. A smile creeps up my face. "Completely mine." I turn over to Jacob and ruffle his hair. "Looking forward to being your brother." He hugged me. "You always have been."

My old body groans, stirring slightly.

Caleb... Or, Dad now... and Jacob slowly walk to the front door.

"Why don't you two get acquainted. We're going to buy some ice cream."

I take my cuff off and walk over to the new Morty.

"You've been out for a bit, Morty." He looks up at me and then down at himself.

"What? Morty... I'm not... You're me? No... That's not..." I pick him up and take him to the bathroom. "You're not yourself. You must have had quite a fall."

"A fall?"

I grin, an evil thought coming to my head. "Yeah... We were just about to do something naughty... But you fell and hit your head."

I turn the shower on.

"Naughty?"

"You told me you were a virgin." I pull his naked body to the shower with me. "I was going to correct that."

Any more resistance from Morty had vanished as I let him worship my body. My former submissiveness and lust must be slowly overpowering what little of Wesley was left from his soul. The way his hands rubbed through my pec and torso... He gasped in awe as he stared at the monster cock that used to be his. The 9 inch tool growing at full mast hitting his modest 6.

I step closer and grab his head before mashing my lips with his.

His breath hitched as my tongue invaded every familiar crevice of my old mouth. I pull away and turn him to the wall, my massive hands slowly caressing his smooth back downward until I reached his ass.

I'll do him the kindness of taking away his virginity, the way I only dreamed as Morty.

The screams that came out of his lungs were unreal as I all but shoved my dick onto his untouched hole. The irony of a top like him finally taking it was palpable. Every inch upward made our breaths increase in pace. He all but bounced with every little effort I rammed into him. I pull his head back and suck on his neck as we continued. The cum he sprayed on the wall was astronomical. Way more than he most likely had in his former life. Which proved I was always the worthy owner of this body. Because the cum I filled his hole with all but rained out his ass. "Say my name..." I whisper to him. "Wesley." I chuckle, his lips once again violated by tongue as I kiss him once more. "You're damn right, Morty..."

~Two Days Later~

Jacbo's been way happier since we became blood family. The new Caleb still hung out with him, more than happy to forget he was ever the father. He decided to look the other way when we told him about what happened to Wesley. The new Morty had settled onto his role as my toy almost immediately. When I demand it, he's got a picture ready for me.

As a reward, I'd send him pics or even videos that he can worship and masturbate to at home. He'll never suspect I was mocking him with his own body.

Now that the natural order has been restored, I've just been living life and making sure to correct all of the wrongs Wesley has caused along the way. I certainly appreciate the confidence boost this body came with.

Life's good when you're Wesley Smith.

I used to think confidence was inherited. Like hairlines. Or jawlines. Or the way my father could walk into a room full of men twice his age and have them straighten their backs without even knowing why.

Senator Whitmore didn’t ask for respect. He expected it.

I, on the other hand, was twenty-one, going to Harvard because it was “the next logical step,” wearing the same navy blazer as every other boy who thought pedigree counted as purpose. I had opinions I’d memorized, not lived. Beliefs I’d borrowed. Convictions that cracked the second someone pushed back.

I wanted to be finished. Finished becoming. Finished doubting. I wanted to be the kind of man other men clocked immediately—the kind who didn’t ask permission to exist.

New Year’s Eve, I stood alone in my dorm room while my roommate pre-gamed across the hall, bass thumping through the walls. I stared at my reflection: soft, narrow, careful. The kind of body that apologized before it entered a room.

I remember saying it out loud. “I just want to be a real man.”

Midnight came. Champagne popped somewhere down the hall. And the world… blinked.

I woke up heavy.

That was the first thing I noticed.

Not groggy—weighted. My chest broad and solid against the mattress. My hands rough, scarred, confident in their size. When I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, tight black underwear clung to thighs that had never skipped leg day in their life.

The mirror stopped me cold.

Beard. Thick mustache. Weathered face. A body that took up space without asking.

I stood there for a long moment before the mirror, just… taking inventory.

This face stared back at me like it had never doubted a single choice it had made. I lifted a hand—bigger than it had any right to be—and dragged my fingers slowly through that thick mustache. It was coarse. Real. The kind of facial hair you didn’t style so much as maintain. My jaw underneath was solid, unbothered by angles or softness.

I barely recognized myself when I smiled.

My gaze dropped.

Jesus.

Hair everywhere. Chest, stomach, forearms—dark and unapologetic. Muscle sat heavy on my frame, not sculpted for show but built from use. I turned slightly, watching how my shoulders filled the mirror, how my arms hung relaxed and powerful at my sides.

I reached up then—hesitant for half a second—and slid my palm over my scalp.

Smooth. Bald. Intentional.

The kind of head you shaved because you didn’t need anything hiding you.

The sensation sent a jolt straight through me. Not embarrassment. Not shame.

Heat.

I straightened, squared my shoulders, watched how naturally the movement claimed space. I could feel it now—how this body carried itself, how it expected the world to adjust around it.

I got dressed slowly. Deliberately.

Jeans first—tight in all the right ways. The weight of a chain settling against my hip as I clipped on the wallet felt absurdly right, like punctuation at the end of a sentence I’d been trying to finish my whole life. Rings slid onto my fingers, cool metal against warm skin, each one making my hands look even more capable.

Then the leather jacket.

The second it settled onto my shoulders, something in me locked into place. The weight. The smell. The way it framed my chest like it had been waiting for me.

I looked at myself again.

And this time, I didn’t flinch.

I liked what I saw. No—I wanted what I saw.

The realization made my breath hitch, my pulse thrum low and steady. I wasn’t just confident in this body—I was turned on by it. By the certainty of it. By the fact that this man didn’t ask if he was enough.

He knew.

I leaned closer to the mirror, eyes dark, mouth just barely curved.

“So this is what it feels like,” I murmured.

Not approval.

Ownership.

Then my phone lit up.

Notifications. Grindr. Texts. Names I didn’t recognize. Men—confident, direct, unapologetic—messaging me like I was the prize.

And that’s when it hit me.

The attraction wasn’t theoretical. It wasn’t distant or academic or something to sneer at.

It was mine.

I was gay.

Not confused-gay. Not curious-gay. But settled, grounded, certain.

The kind of certain my father always preached about—just never like this.

I laughed. Out loud. A deep, easy sound that felt good in my chest.

All those years of rolling my eyes at my roommate’s “phase.” All those jokes. All that certainty about what a “real man” was supposed to want.

And now?

I wanted him.

Not him exactly—but the version of me I used to be. Slim. Nervous. Still trying to prove something. The kind of guy who’d look at this body and forget how to breathe.

The Harley was parked outside like it had always been mine.

Leather jacket on. Engine roaring. The city lit up ahead of me—bars, music, possibility. I knew exactly which place my old roommate liked. Knew exactly how this body would be read when I walked in.

Respected. Desired. Unquestioned.

And for the first time in my life, I wasn’t wondering who I was supposed to be.

I was already there.

The U.S. military had been working on ultrasonic brainwave manipulation experiments for years at Fort Campbell, Colorado. The scientists and soldiers there had finally thought they had made a breakthrough when an electric substation overloaded and caused the machine to send out a sonic wave that switched half the town into each other's bodies. The machine then exploded, leveling two buildings on the base and forcing the military to admit to the town what had happened. Everyone was instructed to carry on their life normally no matter whose bodies they had wound up in, so that word of the failed experiment wouldn’t get beyond the town’s boundaries.

Tom

“That military experiment gone wrong was the best thing that ever happened to me” said Tom, lifting up his shirt and caressing the rigid abs underneath. Just two more weeks of teaching those whiny teens calculus and it’s off to sunny Los Angeles” said Tom as he flicked his nipple and felt his new dick begin to rise. Tom only needed to do a few more onlyfans streams showing off his bubble butt and post a few more hour long body exploration videos then he would have enough money for a first class ticket and a few nights at a fancy hotel while he began filming videos with all the guys he had been messaging with for the last week. Poor Drake the personal trainer at the local gym had not taken the shock very well, of course, how could he with Toms' old fat body and bad heart. Tom was sure the ladies in town would miss seeing Drake at the gym and in their beds. He would go and visit Drake in his old body in the hospital before he left and maybe send him a free subscription so he could see what he was missing out on. Sure he’d cry about what would happen when the machine was fixed but by then Tom would be long gone with a new number and no more cares in the world.

Liam

“ Yes Mr. Davis I promise I won’t do anything to embarrass you before the machine is fixed” sighed Liam on the phone with Richard Davis, his father's best friend and whose body he now found himself in. “You better not, I have a reputation to uphold in this town, and I don’t need my best buds gay son ruining it. You may have convinced him to still love you, but if you were my son living in sin you would have been kicked out and had the door slammed in your face the minute you turned eighteen, none of this taking a gap year to figure out what you wanted to do with your life that actually lasted until you were twenty crap,” yelled Richard in Liam’s old voice on the other end of the phone. Richard hung up the phone in disgust and looked at his laptop on the bed in the dingy motel room Richard was paying for to keep him out of sight. That was the last straw he clicked purchase on the bus tickets to New York he had been debating on buying. He then called up the tattoo shop to see if they could fit him in that afternoon for a chest tattoo and tramp stamp he would place on his lower back right above his new hairy ass and tight hole for everyone to see. He had already gotten a nose piercing and this leather outfit he was currently trying on at the sex shop in the next town over two days ago, but now he had to get something a little more permanent for dear old Richard. Staring at his reflection in the mirror he smiled an evil grin creeping across his face as he felt his leather pants stretch to their limits in the front. He could also feel the heat that radiated off of Mr. Davis’ bear of a body as he began to sweat in his tight outfit. He had never smelt such a manly scent come out of his thin original body that had barely grown a single hair in his twenty years of life. Now his new body smelled so good to Liam he grabbed the underwear he had discarded before he had put on his leather gear and took a deep inhale loving every second of it. If Richard ever managed to track him down in New York City he wanted to make sure he wouldn’t even want his old body back and that his reputation would be ruined. Liam had always had a thing for older guys and now he got to stare at Mr Davis’ fit body with his large muscular chest everyday in the mirror maybe he should get his rock hard nipples pierced next. Yeah this accident may have been just the thing to really get Liam’s life started.

Gladis and Rose

“Gladis do you think our families will come looking for us?”questioned the guy in the striped swim trunks. “Please, Rose, those ungrateful people were probably overjoyed when those boys woke up rambling about being swapped into two old ladies. They probably couldn’t sign the paperwork fast enough to have us shipped off to the loony bin for advanced dementia and Alzheimer’s. They probably didn’t even report it to the military. They were too busy planning what they would do now that they didn’t have to stare at us and count down the minutes during their monthly visits to the nursing home” said Gladis, adjusting her sunglasses and tugging at the bulge in her shorts. “Yeah you’re right and no one here suspects a thing since we were the only ones on the bus taking the college volleyball team back from nationals affected by the military base explosion” Rose replied, staring down at her toned chest. “Exactly now lets grab another drink plus I see those two boys from the swim team totally checking us out” said Gladis chugging down her beer and smiling across the quad. The two old ladies left their old life behind and started life over completely as they were now just Chad and Bryan, two trust fund volleyball bros looking for a good time at college six states away.

Javier and Alex