Chapter 1: The Collar’s First Whisper
The gold-trimmed door groaned on its hinges, a sound swallowed by the thick, salt-heavy air. Lucy stepped inside, the sea breeze that had followed her up the path now replaced by a stagnant warmth. Sunlight, thick with dust motes, streamed through the massive arched windows, painting the sprawling interior in shades of aged honey.
It was quiet, too quiet. The only sound was the distant, rhythmic crush of waves against the cliffs below.
Her eyes adjusted to the gloom, taking in the grand, weathered furniture draped in white sheets like sleeping ghosts. Then she saw it. On a simple marble pedestal in the center of the room, as if waiting for her, was a collar.
It was crafted from supple black leather, intricate and undeniably feminine. A single, deep-set ruby clasp winked at her from the dim light, a droplet of captured blood. A strange, compelling energy seemed to pulse from it, a silent melody that vibrated in her bones.
"Don't be stupid, Lucy," she muttered to herself, her voice echoing in the vast space. But her feet were already moving, carrying her forward across the cool tile floor. It was just so... beautiful. Her fingers, acting with a will of their own, reached out and traced the smooth leather.
A jolt, sharp and electric, shot up her arm.
Before reason could intervene, her hands lifted the collar. It was warm. Her thumbs found the clasp, and with a soft, definitive click, it fastened around her throat.
The world dissolved.
A sensation like sea foam washing over her skin, a sudden, shocking coolness. She looked down as her clothes—her favorite blouse, her jeans—simply evaporated into nothing. A gasp caught in her throat, but it emerged as a choked, breathy sound. Her spine arched of its own accord, a deep, needy stretch that pushed her chest forward and her head back. A rumble started low in her diaphragm, building until a purr vibrated through her entire body, unfamiliar and primal.
From the shadows near the terrace, a figure emerged.
Brandish μ was on her knees. The same black leather collar, its ruby gleaming, was locked around her neck. Her green hair, usually styled with precise indifference, was messy. Her eyes, normally so stoic and dismissive, were wide with a conflict that was almost painful to see. Her jaw was tight, a muscle twitching in her cheek as if she were fighting an invisible war.
She shuffled forward on her knees, the movement awkward and utterly unlike her.
A warm, wet pressure against Lucy’s bare hip.
Lucy jolted, looking down. Brandish was there, her head bowed, her tongue swiping a slow, deliberate stripe across Lucy's skin. The gesture was one of pure, animalistic submission.
"Wh-what are you doing?" Lucy stammered. The words felt thick and wrong in her mouth. She tried to feel outrage, to push the other woman away, but her body refused the command. Instead, a shiver of pleasure trailed the path of Brandish’s tongue.
Brandish looked up, her gaze haunted. "Welcome," she said, her voice a ragged whisper. It was her voice, but the flat, controlled tone was gone, replaced by a raw obedience that seemed to horrify her even as she spoke. She tried to stand, her body tensing, but an unseen force kept her kneeling. A low whine escaped her lips.
Lucy’s mind was a storm of confusion. This was Brandish. Proud, powerful, aloof Brandish. The sight of her like this should have been terrifying. But the purr in Lucy’s chest only deepened, a contented thrum that clouded her thoughts. She felt a bizarre, compelling urge to reach down and thread her fingers through that green hair.
"Get up," Lucy said, trying to sound authoritative. It came out as a plea.
"I can't." Brandish’s reply was hollow. She leaned forward, nuzzling her face against Lucy’s thigh, her body trembling with the effort of her internal struggle. "The Master said to wait. To welcome you properly."
"Master? What Master?" Panic, sharp and clean, finally pierced the fuzzy warmth enveloping Lucy. She clawed at the collar around her neck, but the leather might as well have been fused to her skin. The ruby clasp burned with a cold fire.
Brandish didn’t answer. She just pressed closer, her breath hot on Lucy’s skin, a living, breathing monument to their shared captivity. The purring in Lucy’s chest stuttered for a moment, a flicker of her true self fighting its way to the surface. She was Lucy Heartfilia, Celestial Spirit Mage, a member of Fairy Tail. She didn't purr. She didn't have pets.
But as she looked down at the powerful mage kneeling at her bare feet, a treacherous part of her, the part the collar had awakened, thought it felt… right. The conflict was a cold knot in her stomach, even as the purr rumbled on.
The only clear thought that remained was a name, a lifeline thrown into the churning sea of her new reality.
Natsu.
Natsu.
The name was a spark, a flicker of lightning in the fog. It burned for just a second behind her eyes. Then the collar around her throat seemed to tighten, not physically, but psychically, a velvet vise squeezing the thought into nothing. The purr in her chest swelled, drowning out the echo.
She looked down at Brandish, who was still pressed against her leg. The conflict in the green-haired mage’s eyes was fading, smothered by a dull, placid warmth. A goofy, unthinking smile stretched her lips.
"Master found me," Brandish slurred, her voice losing its human cadence, becoming a series of happy, panting breaths. "Found me good. Was looking for a quiet place. A den. This den called. It sang. A pretty song in the rocks."
Lucy tried to form a question, but what came out was a low, questioning "Mrrow?"
Brandish barked, a short, sharp sound of delight at the noise. She scrambled back on her knees, her body moving with a canine looseness that was utterly alien. "Yes! Like that! The song was like that. It said... it said come. It said rest. It said good girls get treats." She nosed at Lucy's hand, urging her to pet.
A part of Lucy screamed. This was wrong. This was a nightmare. But her hand, moving as if through warm water, lifted and settled on Brandish's head. Her fingers dug into the green hair, scratching. Brandish leaned into the touch with a throaty, contented groan.
"I came inside," Brandish continued, her story punctuated by panting. "The shiny thing was on the floor. For me. It felt nice. Cold. Then warm. Click." She pawed at the collar around her own neck. "Then the big voice. Not from outside. From inside the walls. From inside my head."
Lucy’s scratching slowed. The purring in her chest was a constant, soothing engine. "The... Master?" she managed, the word feeling foreign yet right on her tongue.
"Master of the den," Brandish confirmed, her tailbone wiggling with a happiness her human self would have despised. "Master said I was a good dog. A loyal dog. But I was lonely. Master said... he would bring a friend. A pretty, pretty kitty. For me. For us to play. For us to... enjoy."
Brandish looked up at Lucy, her eyes glassy with devotion. "And now you're here. My kitty. The villa wanted this. It wants us to be happy. It wants us to feel good."
She surged forward then, not with a mage's power, but with an animal's simple need. She knocked Lucy backward onto the sun-warmed tiles. Lucy yelped, a high-pitched, feline sound, but there was no fear in it. Her body was pliant, responsive.
Brandish loomed over her, a dog playing with its new toy. She lowered her head and dragged her tongue, rough and warm, up the length of Lucy's stomach.
Lucy arched, a mewl escaping her lips. Her thoughts were gone, truly gone now, replaced by simple, direct sensations. The heat of the sun on her skin. The scratch of the tile against her back. The wet, claiming pressure of Brandish's tongue. The villa watched, its ancient, salt-crusted windows like drowsy eyes, and it was pleased. The game was beginning.