--Jaune--

I found myself standing outside Pyrrha's door, my hand poised to knock. The hallway was quiet, the soft hum of fluorescent lights overhead casting a sterile glow. Beacon Academy was unusually serene this morning, a stark contrast to the usual bustling energy of students heading to and from classes. I could almost hear the faint echoes of laughter and conversations from earlier. Taking a deep breath, I knocked on the door.

"Come in!" Pyrrha's voice called out, slightly muffled but unmistakably warm. I turned the knob and stepped inside, closing the door softly behind me.

Her room was a familiar sight, yet it always felt like stepping into a different world. The gentle scent of lavender filled the air, mingling with the subtle freshness of soap. Her bed was neatly made, the crimson and gold hues of her comforter reflecting her aura. Weapons and armor were meticulously arranged on stands and shelves, a testament to her discipline and dedication.

"I'm in the shower, Jaune! I'll be out in a minute. Make yourself comfortable," Pyrrha's voice floated through the slightly ajar bathroom door, accompanied by the rhythmic sound of water cascading.

"Sure thing," I replied, trying to sound casual. I took a seat on her bed, my eyes wandering around the room. My gaze landed on her nightstand, where a small, peculiar device caught my attention. It was a spherical object, sleek and metallic, about the size of a tennis ball. It looked like something out of a sci-fi movie, with faint lines etched into its surface, hinting at some advanced technology.

Curiosity got the better of me. I picked it up, feeling its cool, smooth surface against my skin. As I examined it, the device began to emit a strange, ethereal glow. The light grew brighter, enveloping me in a blinding radiance. Panic surged through me, but before I could react, the world around me dissolved into a whirlwind of colors and sensations.

The room spun wildly, a dizzying blur of shapes and lights. My stomach churned, and I felt a wave of nausea wash over me. I tried to hold on to consciousness, but the overwhelming sensations pulled me under. The last thing I remembered was the feeling of being completely weightless, as if I was floating in an endless void.

I awoke to the sound of thunderous footsteps approaching. My head throbbed, and my vision was hazy. I tried to move, but my body felt strangely unresponsive. The footsteps grew louder, more distinct, accompanied by a familiar, gentle voice.

"Where could he have gone?" Pyrrha's voice echoed, tinged with concern. I blinked, trying to clear my vision, but all I could see was a swathe of fabric, like I was staring into a blanket.

"Pyrrha?" I called out, but my voice seemed to vanish into the ether. Panic bubbled up inside me. I was here, but why couldn't I move? Why couldn't I see properly?

"He must have gone for breakfast," Pyrrha mused aloud, her voice now impossibly close. Suddenly, I felt myself being lifted, the world tilting as I was turned around.

My vision cleared, and I found myself staring into Pyrrha's eyes. She was holding me at chest level, a curious smile on her face. "With my lucky bra, I'm sure to get noticed by Jaune today," she said, her voice filled with a playful confidence.

Her towel dropped, and in that instant, realization hit me like a freight train. The device. The glow. The transformation. I wasn't just seeing things from a strange angle—I had become something else. Something intimate. Something I shouldn't be.

I had been transformed into Pyrrha's bra.

As she turned me around, I saw my new form reflected in the mirror. The cups of the bra were my "eyes," giving me a surreal, almost panoramic view. I watched in helpless disbelief as she clasped me around her chest, my "body" enveloping her warmth and softness. The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of embarrassment and awe.

Pyrrha's fingers fumbled slightly as she reached behind to clasp the bra, her usual grace momentarily disrupted by the snug fit. I felt the gentle pressure of her fingers against what would be my back, the clasp securing me in place. The world shifted again as she straightened up, her posture correcting.

Then it hit me—her chest. The weight, the warmth, the overwhelming presence of her. I tried to focus, to mentally brace myself, but nothing could prepare me for the sensation. I could feel every inch of her skin against my new form, the gentle curve and softness pressing against me.

I tried to contain her chest, instinctively tightening, but it was clear I was too small. The fabric stretched and strained, my form barely managing to cover her. Every movement she made sent ripples through me, each breath expanding her chest slightly, making me painfully aware of my limitations.

"This bra feels a little small," Pyrrha murmured, her voice a mix of curiosity and slight discomfort. She bounced lightly on her feet, causing her chest to shift. The sensation was almost too much to bear. I felt like I was being pulled in a hundred different directions at once, struggling to maintain my shape and hold her in place.

She adjusted me, her hands smoothing over her chest, pressing me closer against her skin. I did my best to adapt, to provide the support she needed, but the fit was undeniably tight. It was a strange, intimate struggle, a battle between my new form and the reality of her body.

Despite the oddity of the situation, I couldn't help but marvel at the way she moved, the effortless grace with which she carried herself. Even now, as she dressed and prepared for the day, she was a warrior through and through, and I was left to grapple with the bizarre twist of fate that had made me part of her attire.

Pyrrha bent over to pick up the pair of panties from her bed, and from my position, I had a front-row view of everything. The world tilted dramatically, her long red hair cascading around me like a fiery curtain. I could see the floor rushing up to meet us, the light glinting off the polished wooden planks.

As she reached down, the cups of the bra—my eyes—gave me a clear, albeit unsettling, perspective. Her chest pressed more firmly against me, the movement creating a gentle but constant pressure. I could see her hands, delicate yet strong, picking up the silky fabric of her panties with practiced ease.

The view was both intimate and surreal. The bedspread beneath us was a blur of reds and golds, matching the colors of Pyrrha's armor and the warmth of her personality. I noticed small details I would never have paid attention to before—the way her fingers curled around the fabric, the subtle flex of her muscles as she moved.

When she straightened up, the shift was almost dizzying. The weight of her chest settled back into place, and I felt every subtle movement, every breath she took. My view rose from the floor to her midriff, then up to her face, where a contented smile played on her lips.

She glanced at herself in the mirror, holding the panties in one hand. I could see her reflection, the satisfaction in her eyes as she admired her appearance. I was acutely aware of the tightness of my new form, the way I strained to contain her curves.

Adjusting me slightly, Pyrrha's hands moved with a kind of reverence. She seemed pleased with the snug fit, even if it felt slightly constricting to her. The brief bounce she gave sent another wave of motion through me, a reminder of my new, surreal reality. The world had become a series of shifting perspectives and intimate sensations, each movement a testament to the bizarre twist of fate that had turned me into her bra.

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