Welcome fellow fanfic enthusiasts. As the synopsis implies, if you like body swapping/Freaky Friday madness, this story is for you. Enjoy :)

Part I: A Princess and a Plumber

My breathings ragged and my limbs flail as I fly. Air once hanging idly in the halls, disturbed and turned to subtle wind resistance. My coat flaps behind like a cape, and at the speed I'm going, I'm thankful my cap is fitted. The whole castle is calm, quiet, appearing almost untouched with closed doors and absent dwellers. Outside clouds take turns concealing the moon, but regardless of the time of day, I should have seen someone by now.

The only signs of life are sconces, alight and marking the racetrack. And yet with how determined my feet are to will me forward, I don't seem to need guidance. My body knows where it needs to go, at what speed it needs to get there. But for what? And why? There's no answer. Scaling the second flight of stairs and stumbling onto the third floor, I note the crowned pink door at the end of the hall, how my eyes fixate on it, and suddenly I don't mind the missing details.

I raise myself, shoulders high and head forward. My arms move closer to my sides, and I will them back and forth in rhythm with my legs. I point my feet until only the balls make contact with the floor, pushing me forward faster. My calves complain but I keep going, going, going until I reach the door.

My shoulder opens it, "Princess!?" the cry echoes off her bedroom walls. Wood crackles in her hearth, casting flickering shadows of furniture. I scan for her silhouette among them as I steady my breathing and make my way forward. "Hello?"

"Over here," she calls, parting the bed canopy and waving. A silk robe wraps around her slender figure, tied neatly in a bow. Her hair is messy from tosses and turns. She stretches as she stands, walking towards me as I let myself relax.

"I thought something happened."

"Nothing's happened," she responds, before her bare hand grabs mine.

She holds it between both of hers, moving her thumbs in circular motions. I clench my teeth at my stiffened figure, at how hot my face begins to feel. She giggles, but it doesn't hold the same innocence I'm used to. Even her smile, the way her brows are slanted, lips are curved, it's uncanny.

She smirks, leading me to the bed before spinning the two of us and pushing me to it. My heels hit the frame and I stumble, slipping through the canopy and landing on the mattress. Hands now free, the mist in my head thins. I sit up and part the cloth, finding my voice again, "Princess—"

"Peach," she corrects.

"Peach. What are you doing?" She smiles again. Her hands linger by her waist; now empty, they quiver, fingers triggering. "Something's—"

"I've been waiting," she cuts. "And waiting, and waiting."

"I don't know what you mean."

"And waiting, and waiting, and WAITING." Her glower grips me like an extra set of limbs, and the heat it radiates dries my throat, but I don't even know what I'm supposed to say.

She exhales, closing her eyes and lowering her shoulders but I keep my eyes on her. She stares at me and sighs again, hands finding the ropes of her robe "I just can't wait any longer."

She pulls and the silk slips, past itself, off her dropped shoulders, and onto the floor. My body burns. I force myself to look at her face. Look at her face. But her smile's back, and her eyes flick down, beckoning mine to do the same.

I hold my breath, my gaze, as she moves forward. "Don't be shy now."

Her hands reach for me and I have to move. Move. MOVE. I lift my knees and kick myself back, but she's quick to follow. She pops through the canopy and pounces, giggling when she grabs me. There's no safe place to put my hands and push her off; my arms fall and lock at my sides. My eyes are frantic to find anywhere, anything to focus on but her.

"Look at me, Mario," she coos. "Your princess commands you."

"You're not my princess," I say. "The Peach I know wouldn't act like this."

"Please tell me you're joking."

"You're not Peach," I say it again, turning my head away. "Something's wrong."

Something's very wrong.

Her hand grips my face and forces my head back into place with strength I wasn't expecting. I gasp when her fingers lock, digging into my skin with nails sharp enough to puncture. Blood pools and spills from under her fingertips, trickling down my neck. Her eyes narrow as her face lowers, lips dripping with lust when she mutters, "Nothing is wrong."

Her mouth closes over mine, sending my head spinning in a maelstrom. I fight. Hands fisted, arms tight. I never knew I could get this hot. She has to feel it. Her lips travel to my collar, and her tongue slithers back, following the red path up, over my jaw, and back to my mouth. I tremble.

Her lips curve.

The grip on my chin softens. She turns her hand, tilting my face upwards. The storm begins to seem inviting, twirling with purpose and coaxing me to swirl with it. I inhale sharply, letting my fingers straighten and separate. Shaking hands come together, strip themselves, but hesitate.

She pulls back, "Look at me, Mario." And I do. Her face is soft, simple, almost familiar: a pout paired with open blue eyes. "Nothing's wrong," she repeats, stroking my mustache with her thumb. "There's nothing to worry about."

My teeth clench again at the heat and hormones raging inside me, so intense my eyes want to pop. It's hard to tread through my thoughts and find even a trace of logic at this point. The storm —powerful enough churn its own current— wills me into it. To dance, to drown.

And then she giggles again. I stare at her, committing the face to memory: A smirk so sharp it cuts. Painful and so very not Peach. Peachie. My Peach. "You're not my—"

She dives, massaging my tongue with her own and pulling me down, down, too far down to ever think of swimming back up. She moans when my hands cradle her waist; moist palms slide on skin so soft, so smooth, so everything.

Nothing's wrong. I repeat, feeling her fingers unbutton my overalls. Nothing's wrong, nothing's wrong, nothing is…wrong.

…

Rapping wakes me. Pounding so palpable I feel the fisted hand make contact with my skull. Rhythmic, fast, bang, bang, bang.

I groan, rolling to cover my head with a pillow. Today the blankets cling to me in all the right places, and the sheets are the perfect temperature. I curl into them, inhaling the linen scent before releasing a blissful sigh. Bang, bang, bang! My back arches.

He's always been an early riser and despite our different schedules, he expects me to be the same. Robins pale in comparison to his alarm, and if that wasn't loud enough, most mornings I'm graced with his pitchy performance of That's Amore echoing from the shower stall. Polterpup must bark for breakfast, and laughs are never stifled when reading the paper comics. But my dam has yet to burst; fried bacon, scratch pancakes, or fresh coffee always wins me over. The aroma wills me out of bed and to the kitchen table like clockwork.

What can I say? My brother gets me.

This morning however, his approach is far too direct. Again he bangs, bang, bang, bang. I never knew how grateful I was for subtle hints to rise until now. I hear the knob turn and my fingers clench the pillow. My elbow bends, locked and loaded.

"Princess?" I stiffen. "Your highness, is everything alright? You're usually up by now."

My eyes snap open and I spin, noting the cotton candy comforter and cloud-painted walls visible behind a champagne canopy.

The toad girl tries again, "Princess Peach?"

My eyes widen, scanning for signs of the princess and finding none. My heart bounds and my head aches attempting to organize the rubix cube of reality within my mind. Each shift and twist of the pieces only seems to make them more jumbled.

My heart jumps to my throat as the girl comes closer. It's far too late for a balcony escape, no time to hide in a closet, and I'm fresh out of mini mushrooms and vanish caps. Her arm reaches for the canopy and I duck under the covers, pulling them up and over my head.

"Princess Peach?"

"Stay back!" I cry from under the covers. The voice I manage is surprisingly convincing, and comes out easily. I clear my throat, "Sorry, I just— I don't feel well. It's probably best for me to stay in bed."

"Oh dear, I'll call for the doctor then."

"No doctor needed!" I assure her. "I'll be fine! Nothing bedrest won't solve. Thank you!"

"I see," she responds finally. "Mario's here to see you." I didn't know my eyes could get any wider. "He insists it's an emergency but shall I reschedule?"

"Princess Peach!" My own voice, from the other side of the sheets, out of someone else's mouth. "I need to speak with you this instant!"

"Mister Mario, unfortunately your presence today is less than ideal." Peeking out from under the comforter, I spot the toad staring at a ditto. More than a ditto. My mouth drops. The toad girl continues, "The princess is unwell."

"Yes, I'm here to help with that." It looks to me, locking eyes through the canopy. Theirs stare straight into mine, wild and wide, with brows raised. Their jaw is tighter than a fresh-sealed jar, and I swear I spot a mustache twitch when they blink. Unnerving as it is staring at myself, I note no hint of malice. In fact, their poorly veiled panic mirrors mine.

"I want to speak with Mario." The toad turns back to me and I pull the comforter higher. "Alone. Uh, please."

"Toadecca," the doppelganger points to the exit before the girl can answer. "Close the door behind you if you would."

She hesitates, "Well—"

"Thank you for understanding," my twin brushes. "If we need anything, we'll call for you."

Toadecca looks between the two of us. A part of me would like to think she isn't going to leave. Close friend or not, the beloved but currently biting hero should not be left alone with a sick, underdressed princess.

"Of course, you two. Apologies for interrupting."

She flashes a smile –a genuine one, before departing. The door closes and my hands shift from clutching the comforter to rubbing my temples. I sigh escapes me, out of relief and annoyance.

The imposter strides over, brushes the canopy away, and pushes the bedding aside. "What are you—?" I still sound like Peach.

"Up."

I never knew how stern I could be.

I twist my torso and begin to bring my legs over the side of the bed but pause, staring. Fair skin. Long, hairless legs, partly covered by a pale rose nightgown. Small hands. Polished nails. I blink, turning them front and back

"Up, please." They grab one of them and bring me to my feet.

"I'm, I'm—"

"Me," the Mario says, staring. "And I'm you."

I stare back. The way they hold themselves: high, mighty, but not overly proud. Their eyes, an exact shade of baby blue just like—

"Princess Peach?"

She continues to stare at her body, "Yes."

My jaw drops, "How did this—?"

"Shh!"

Her (my?) lips are so tight I'm surprised she was able to make a sound. Her eyes are glued to herself, zooming in and out like a camera lens as she circles me. Slowly. I need to fill the silence.

She beats me to it, "You just woke up?"

"Yeah."

"You were sleeping until a few minutes ago?"

"Yes."

"You're not lying, are you?"

My brows furrow, "Why would I lie?"

"Just answer the question, Mario." When I don't respond right away her eyes widen."Yes or no?" she blurts.

"I'm not lying," I emphasize calmly. "Again, why would I?"

It leaves her lips too easily, "You know why."

No. I don't.

"I don't know how this happened but we need to get it sorted out." She stares at her (my? Whoever's) hands with a frown. "I'm not familiar with any power-ups that give this sort of ability. And I've never seen magic like this." She looks up, "Have you?"

My lips are parted but words fail to slip through. My mind is still caught up in the words she spoke and the tone she used to speak them mere moments ago. Her expression now is inquisitive, determined, and so removed from the previous conversation (or so it would seem).

"Mario?"

I clench my fists and close my mouth before shaking my head quickly.

"Right, well, perhaps the library would be a good place to start." I manage a nod. "We can go there this evening." My brows raise at her choice of time; this she notices, "What?"

I clear my throat, "Shouldn't we figure this out as soon as possible?"

"Evening is as soon as possible," she states. "I have other obligations the rest of the day."

I blink, "How are you going to fulfill those when you're in my body?"

"We'll do it together." She turns to her vanity and begins searching through drawers. "None of the matters are confidential so it wouldn't raise suspicions if you —or rather, I was present. You'll pose as me and I'll be there to help you through difficulties, should they arise."

I choose my words carefully, "Wouldn't it be simpler to just…postpone your appointments and be honest with—?"

"We're not telling the toads about this," she interrupts, pausing her search. "There's no need to cause a commotion. My people deal with it enough as it is."

"Compared to what they're used to, this 'commotion' would be nothing," I press gently. "And one of them might know how to fix this."

She stares at me, incredulous, "With all due respect to the Mushroom Kingdom citizens, if you're not familiar with this, I highly doubt any of them will be."

"I still think we should be honest."

"We're not telling them," she states, returning to her search. "That's final."

She digs deeper into one of the drawers, eyes widening when her buried hand hits the treasure it was looking for. She pulls back gently, revealing a black sash that she begins to fold in halves against her stomach. "Turn," she instructs.

"What's the scarf for?"

After making it the width of her fingers, she brings it to her eye level.

"I am capable of keeping my eyes closed."

"I'd like you to wear it."

Again with the tone: quick and cutting. She's never been this way with me before. She's never been this way, period.

She must notice my disbelief this time, because she back pedals, to a degree: "Please turn. It's my body, and we need to be downstairs soon."

With a soft exhale, I slowly pivot. Closing my eyes, I feel the sash cover them and wrap around my head. She crosses and pulls the ends when they meet in the back and I flinch, "Too tight." She continues, weaving the ends and pulling a second time. "Too tight, Peach!" She spins me so I'm facing her again and pinches the cloth with her fingers to move it, making it tug in the back. "It's also caught in your hair."

"I'll fix it in the bathroom," she responds, taking my hand and leading me forward. Somehow I feel her eyes on me. "You can't see, right?"

My foot bangs into something hard and heavy, and I inhale.

"Sorry."

Soon I feel the texture under my feet change from soft and cushioned to hard and cool. She closes the door behind us with a click and a clack when the lock secures.

"Keep your arms at your sides and don't move them unless I tell you…please."

My voice echoes for an eternity, "Of course, Princess."

...

She leads me out of the bathroom quickly, but my toes go unstubbed this time, which is all I care about. "Arms up," I hear as we come to a stop. The nightgown starts to peel away before my elbows are fully stretched. "Bring them down, straight towards me." I do so, and feel an undershirt slide down my arms, over my head, and pull across my torso. She stretches it to cover my stomach, and although it's a bit tight I'm thankful for the little coverage it offers. I'm left standing in nothing but underwear, goosebumps rising on my skin as I listen to her heavy steps about the area. One after the other, deliberate and fast.

My ears perk up at the sound of furniture sliding over carpet, and I picture the marks it must be leaving along the ground. Easy to remove of course. "Reach back and sit," she orders from behind. It's a bit unnerving but I manage it, and feel her grab one of my heels the second my bottom hits the chair. Her hands work their way up my feet, willing a wad of tight, thick fabric up each ankle before pulling me back up, "Stand still."

The gloves I wear are a blessing as her hands continue to move up my lower limbs, pulling the fabric along with them. The socks tighten the higher they go. Higher, higher, how high are they going? She stops at the hips, adjusting her grip, and heaves.

I jump.

With one swift tug, the garment manages to rise above my stomach and end just below the chest. I feel Peach pinch parts and smooth it out with her fingers while I struggle to breathe. "Are these really necessary?"

"Yes," she responds. "You need coverage under a dress."

"Do you…at least have a bigger size?" I manage after a belittled inhale.

"I don't need bigger ones!" she voices. "These fit perfectly."

My compressed lungs say otherwise, "So they're supposed to be tight?"

"It is in the name."

She gives them a final pull up before I hear her footsteps depart again. I stretch my legs and jump a second time at the feel of the fabric tugging in between them, and quickly bring them back together, "These don't feel right, Princess."

"They look right," I hear her retort. "And I think I'd know."

"But they're not," I pinch then pull, feeling the fabric snap back in place when I release. "Comfortable."

"They're not supposed to be."

The creak of closet doors conceals my sigh. I deflate easily but struggle to refill, like trying to inflate a flat pool float someone's already sitting on. I close my eyes behind the scarf, focusing on the sound of hangers sliding on a rack and soft mumbling about shades of pink. My

hands work their way to the top of the tights and I slip my thumbs underneath, stretching them away from me. The pressure eases and I can fill myself: in, out, in—

"Mario!"

I let go; the fabric not only stings when it makes contact, but also wills what air I had back out of my system. I cough as she storms over.

"What did I say?!" she shrieks, piercing with a pitch I didn't know was in my range. "What did I say?! Don't touch me!"

"I wasn't!" it comes out as a shout. I try again. "I wasn't touching you."

"I saw your hands—!"
"I can't breathe in these things," I emphasize, gesturing rigidly to my legs. "I told you, they're too tight."

"Fine! I'll get you another pair. Just please keep your hands away!" I hear a drawer yank open. She swaps the pair with as much grace as Wario gorging on garlic. "Happy?"

I hesitate, "T–There better, yes."

"Great. Arms up," she repeats. "And this time, keep them that way."

The sting in her voice seeps through my skin to my core. The air that leaves her lips is beyond audible, brushing against my face.

"Princess, what's wrong?" I ask softly. "Why are you acting this way?"

After a pause, she releases a second sigh, this one less blatant. "Nothing's wrong," she says, voice controlled. "I just…don't like the idea of someone else in my body."

"But it's me," I try with a small smile. "You know me."

Another pause. "Yes, I do know you," she responds. "I know you're a man that's had feelings for me since the day we met. And I know that despite my polite rejections, you continue to be enthralled by me." The statements flow from her mouth like an unclogged pipe. My face burns and I pray it isn't visible. Her voice lowers, "I know they say my rewards for your heroics are subpar. Sub-subpar."

Who says that?

"So, if you were given an opportunity to, let's say: obtain a reward of higher value and interest..."

My face falls to the first floor, "You think I'd—?"

"I don't know what to think," she breathes. "I don't want to think."

I feel my heart shrivel. Thoughts swirl and tangle in my mind into a non-cohesive knot, leaving nothing but broken words and phrases. Mistaken. Inaccurate. Assumptions. Jumping to conclusions. Blatantly wrong. One rises above the rest, echoing in my ears at a quick, painful pace: You don't know me at all.

I hear her gather fabric in her hands, "Arms out please, it's time for the dress."

Her sounds of struggle are muffled by my thoughts. I stand in a somber daze, lost in my mind while she dresses me. The chill of a zipper creeping up my back is what brings the world back into focus. Only to have it fall away again.

Once the dress is donned, a pressure overtakes me. All of me. My ears start to ring, and my eyes roll. My brain swells to the brink of bursting. I feel myself falling backwards but fail to feel the impact of the floor before everything goes black.

...

"Mario? Mario?"

My eyes open slowly, lids too heavy to fully lift up and away, "What happened?"

Peach's lips purse. "Something that I'd hoped you'd be strong enough to handle."

"What?" She looks away. Her lips form a line so thin, she doesn't have a mouth. Just a mustache. I try again, "Handle what?"

Her downcast eyes refuse to meet mine, even when her mouth finally parts, "My royal magic."

What?

"The brooch." I look down at my chest. "It's been passed down by Mushroom Kingdom rulers for generations. It grants immense abilities. Upon initial wear it— for lack of a better word, reads you, and offers magic accordingly. Quite the uncomfortable process to go through," she states, helping me to my feet. "As you just experienced."

The dress feels as heavy as a thwomp, as if layer upon layer of fabric wasn't bad enough. My knees and shoulders ache under the weight. Standing the world starts to spin, and I close my eyes and sit to avoid another bout of syncope. Peach brushes my hair while I blindly put on her gloves. Her crown is surprisingly lightweight, so light that she has to secure it with bobby pins. I always wondered how I stayed on.

"Looking as lovely as always," she says.

Opening my eyes slowly, I see the spitting image of Princess Peach. Draped golden hair, big earrings, bright blue eyes, in a pink gown. I manage a small smile and am surprised to see her reciprocate.

"Let me just grab your shoes."

My head throbs and I hold it in my hands. The blue of the brooch curls like smoke in a glass container. Its movements seem rough and random at first but gradually every wisp moves as a unit inwards, circling a drain. As the motion ceases the color changes, from blue to pink to purple, and settles on red. The pressure leaves me and I exhale, lifting my head and finding my reflection again. "Princess…"

She holds a pair of soft red heels. Coming from behind, she spots the blemish instantly, "What happened?!"

"I don't know, it just changed color."

"It's never settled with a different shade. Never," she breathes, dismay streaking her face.

I stand, stretching my arms behind my back. My body shakes, brimming with energy it's eager to release. Needs to release. Refraining from doing so would be like attempting to prevent a rocket flower from blasting off.

Lifting a trembling hand, I barely have to flex my fingers before fire erupts up to my elbow.

"Put it out!" Peach shrieks, dropping the shoes. "You'll ruin the dress!"

I try but it continues to burn, turning her glove to nothing but soot.

"Mario!"

The smell of burning silk engulfs my nose and mouth. Turning to cough into my other arm, I spot the discarded nightgown on the ground, snag it, and suffocate my flaming limb with extreme prejudice. When the fires out I hold the makeshift tarp up with both hands, inspecting the damage. Soft fabrics are comfortable but they sure do burn.

Peach sighs, shoulders slouching.

"Sorry," I manage, handing the garment to her.

She takes it, "It's fine. I'll just…grab you another glove."

My hands continue to tremble as badly as my brother in a haunted mansion. My entire being quakes. I stare at the jeweled centerpiece on my chest. Suddenly rare badges and power-ups, priceless artifacts, and special abilities don't seem so special. Everything pales in comparison.

"Here." She offers a new glove and shoes with one hand and gestures to the chair with the other.

I shake in place, staring at her, "Why wouldn't you tell me about the brooch?"

"It's a secret, and for good reason!" she emphasizes. "Prior to this, Toadsworth and I were the only two who knew of its abilities."

"I'm the kingdom's primary means of protection," I don't deny the exasperation longing to lace my words. "You don't think knowing you had this much power at your fingertips would have been useful?"

She wears the same shocked expression I once did, "It's for emergencies only."

"Kidnapping and kingdom takeovers aren't emergencies?!"

She bites her lip, "Not when we have you."

My hands clench into fists. I play through every adverse circumstance of my past that this brooch would have helped with. Conflicts, injuries, deaths that could have been avoided. The many tolls I've taken, my brother's taken, all my allies have taken to save this Princess and her people.

The pressure builds in my limbs as my muscles tighten. I grind her teeth so hard into each other I'm sure they'll chip. I hear and feel sparks nicking my hands, begging to fully ignite.

"You need to calm down," she attempts, holding her hands up innocently. "Sit and breathe."

Still I stand there, glaring at her. My hands are clenched so tight I can't feel my fingers. I don't have any. No fingers, hands, wrists, my arms just have heavy unlit torches at their tips. No. Flamethrowers. Determined to burn everything in sight. My body already burns inside, and once a fire starts it's near impossible to stop it from spreading.

"Mario," I look and sound so small. "I understand why you're upset." She glances to my still sparking fists before continuing. "But right now you have a surplus of power that you're not used to. You need to get a handle on it." Her wide eyes stare into my angled ones, trying to sway me to move, speak, do something. "P-Please try," she adds, holding my bare hand. "You can do this. I k-know it."

Just like before, her thumbs move in small circular motions. What's different however is her face: pure, holding nothing but fear and concern. And yet her eyes remain the coolest blue, be it from tears pooling or all too familiar forced composure. I look in the mirror and almost jump. Sharp and vile, my scowl is everything I'm not. It could send Toads running with their tails between their legs if they saw me on the street. And then there's Peach. Standing here, with me, hands clasped.

My Peach.

The rage fades just as fast as it came, making me dizzy again, but she catches me in the chair before my knees buckle. She lets me settle before saying, "That was good," with a smile. "You'll need to maintain control for the rest of the day though."

As I heave the dress' skirt up to shove my feet into heels, the tremors start up again. It takes every ounce of focus to steady the shaking, and slip the new glove over my bare hand. This would be fun.

"Shall we?" she offers, gesturing to the door. I push up from the arms of the chair to follow, only to sit back down. I try again, slowly this time. Despite the modest heel height my ankles are prone to bending inwards. My arms can't decide between stretching outwards for better balance or keeping close to hold the dress up.

My gait is anything but smooth. For every few paces forward I have to pause to avoid a stumble, for fear of losing the ground I've gained. Not that it's much ground to begin with.

"It gets easier," she says, standing by the exit. "By the time we get to the throne room, you'll have walking figured out."

But walking isn't everything.

When both feet are on the ground I bend my knees and bring my arms to my sides. Taking heavy handfuls of fabric, I exhale while putting all my weight through my legs and pushing off the ground. It's the saddest jump I've ever managed. I'm in the air for less than a second before the heels dig back into the carpet. The skirt is too heavy to gain any real height, regardless of how much of it I take in my arms. It falls flatly back into place when I land. I make more distance stumbling forward than cautious walking or impulse jumping combined.

My feet can't seem to catch me but an arm does before I fall face first. Peach loops hers around mine, pulling me back up and into her (into myself I suppose). Still my face reddens at our closeness.

"You won't be needing jumps today," she murmurs as we leave the room, keeping her arm chained with mine.

"You might," I comment.

"It won't be a problem."

"Says the one in sturdy boots, denim, and a lightweight shirt."

She nods, "Exactly."

Thoughts so far? If so, you're more than welcome to share. I'm also happy to answer any questions. Thank you thank you for reading :)

(Super Mario franchise with its associated worlds/characters are property of Nintendo)