Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

{???'s POV}

Tapping my fingers against the wooden table, I sat in contemplative silence, trying to fully grasp the absurdity of the situation I now found myself in. It all started so mundanely—just another night spent in front of my computer, switching between playing games and frantically finishing up a project that was due by 11:59 PM. Classic procrastination, right? I managed to wrap up the assignment with barely a minute to spare—very model student behavior, I know—and afterward, I gave myself a little reward by aimlessly browsing for fanfiction, looking for something decent to sink my teeth into.

That's when nostalgia hit me, hard. I remembered the Waifu Catalog—a wild little corner of the internet I hadn’t visited in ages. Out of sheer curiosity, I clicked on it. To my surprise, there had been some updates since the last time I’d been there, specifically in the [Heritage] tab. Intrigued, I decided, what the hell, I’ll make a build. It’s not like I had anything better to do at that point. So, I started customizing, scrolling through options, picking perks, filling in details like I was back in character creation for an RPG.

I ended up creating something that felt like a mix of fantasy indulgence and strategic planning. I even took a loan to round out the build, not thinking anything of it. Just another night of harmless fun—until it wasn’t. Right after I confirmed everything, a sudden wave of drowsiness hit me like a freight train. It wasn’t the usual sleepiness I got from staying up late either. It was deep, heavy, irresistible. I tried to fight it, pushing through like I always did during all-nighters, but my body betrayed me. My eyelids fell shut, and darkness took me.

That was the last memory of my old life.

When I opened my eyes again, I was in a fucking forest. Not your average, serene national park forest either—this place looked like it had been painted by someone tripping on acid. Trees too vibrant to be real, air that shimmered faintly with something I couldn’t quite place, and a feeling in my gut that told me I sure as hell wasn’t anywhere near home anymore.

Before I could even get a handle on where I was, she appeared—undeniably the most stunning woman I had ever laid eyes on. And trust me, I’ve seen a lot. Her presence was magnetic, otherworldly, like a dream that stepped into reality. She introduced herself as Morgan Le Fay, a Fae, and my patron. Then she dropped the bomb: I had, unknowingly, signed my soul over to [The Company].

Yeah. That [The Company]. The one I thought was just a fictional gag for Waifu Catalog roleplays. Turns out, it was a whole damn thing—and I was now officially an agent. Apparently, creating that build had some real-world consequences. Morgan, calm and composed as ever, gently helped me wrap my head around it. She didn’t mock me or lash out at my confusion. She simply talked me through it all, letting me vent, panic, and slowly come to terms with the situation.

As my patron, she explained, she would double the amount of credits I’d earn whenever I completed an objective during missions. Seemed like a sweet deal—until she mentioned the cost. In exchange, I could never overtly lie again. Like, at all. Ever. That wasn’t exactly ideal for someone who prided themselves on their ability to talk their way out of anything. Thankfully, I had the foresight to grab [Communication Talent] during my build, which was already proving useful. I was learning just by listening to Morgan speak, and she clearly found my reactions amusing.

Eventually, I calmed down enough to start thinking clearly. We discussed my future, the nature of my missions, and the mechanics of how this world-jumping shit worked. I picked my [Missions], trying not to think too hard about what insanity I’d just signed up for. Predictably, another wave of drowsiness hit me after the selection was finalized. This time, I didn’t resist. I let it take me.

When I woke up, I was in an inn—nothing fancy, but warm and solid, clearly built with care. According to my [Mapper Perk], the town I was in was Kuo Kanna. That meant I was in the RWBY universe, which, I had chosen during making my build, and I was glad that wasn't fucked up.

Dragging myself out of the chair I was seated on, I walked to the bathroom to get a proper look at myself. A large mirror hung on the wall, polished enough to reflect every detail. What stared back at me was Zani, the character I had chosen to [Possess] from Wuthering Waves. I had picked her because she was, frankly, hot as hell—and she fit with my chosen [Heritage], [Therianthrope].

In this world, that meant I was a Faunus. Specifically, a ram-type, though that was where things got a bit... odd. I had the expected horns curling elegantly from my head, but my tail was something else entirely. It was long, slender, and tipped like something out of a demonic bestiary. Not exactly what you’d expect from a ram, but still—it kind of worked. Especially when I activated my Resonance Liberation, and the tail morphed a bit to resemble something more traditionally ram-like, though not quite right. Whatever, it was aesthetic.

I couldn't help but admire what I saw. Not to sound full of myself, but I looked hot as fuck. [Body Tune-Up] had done its job beautifully, enhancing everything without erasing the things that made Zani unique—like her scars. Those glowing scars were one of her defining features, and I was thrilled they’d been kept. They pulsed faintly with energy, especially during Resonance Liberation, and added this fierce, dangerous edge to my already stacked appearance.

But then there was the... other thing.

I looked down and blinked. There, hanging above my pussy, was a fucking nine-inch dick. Yeah. No warning. No subtle hint. Just surprise cock. I hadn’t remembered selecting anything that would cause that, but maybe it was tied to [Universal Calibration II]? I wasn’t complaining, though. It was certainly a surprise, but not an unwelcome one.

To be honest, I was kind of thrilled. The possibilities were... interesting, to say the least. I did worry about the logistics—nine inches is a lot, even in fantasy—but thankfully, I had also picked up [Sexual Calibration], so any potential issues with pain, discomfort, or compatibility were already taken care of. Rough sex wouldn’t be a problem, not with those safeguards in place.

After taking a few more moments to admire my new body, appreciating the blend of power, beauty, and just enough tired chaos behind my eyes, I stepped back from the mirror. I had lingered long enough. Now wasn’t the time to stand around ogling myself, no matter how tempting it was. I needed to start making plans.

This was real. As insane as everything sounded—and it was insane—I was here now. I had a mission, a patron, and a build designed for survival and success. Kuo Kanna wasn’t the worst place to start, and with the perks I had chosen, I was already ahead of the curve compared to the average inhabitant.

I stretched, feeling the strength in my limbs, the hum of energy just beneath my skin, and the sense of purpose that came with it all. This wasn’t just some fantasy anymore. This was my new reality. I was a Faunus, an agent of [The Company], and a force to be reckoned with.

Time to raise a little hell.

Kuo Kanna had a CCT tower, sure, but it was an absolute mess. Poorly managed, underfunded, and frankly outdated, the damn thing struggled to keep a steady signal. Trying to connect to the internet through it was a joke. The lag was horrendous, and the buffering? Don’t even get me started. It was like trying to download a movie using dial-up back in the early 2000s. But thankfully, I had my trusty [Company Phone]—a gift from [The Catalog], and one that didn’t rely on the local world's infrastructure to access the internet. That meant I could surf the web freely, with no interruptions, no annoying buffering symbols, and no random disconnects.

With that advantage, I dove straight into research mode. My main goal was to orient myself—figure out exactly where I was in the timeline of RWBY’s plot. I needed to know how much time I had before the real story began, and what kind of changes [Universal Calibration ll] had brought to this version of Remnant. First off, it turned out that I was about three months away from Beacon's Initiation. That meant I had anywhere from a few weeks and a two months before the start of the canonical events. It was a comfortable cushion of time, just enough to prepare myself and start moving the pieces into place.

There were the usual things you’d expect in RWBY. The Schnee Dust Company was still run by a bunch of bastards, the usual corporate greed and exploitation of the Faunus in full swing. There were no mentions of magic—at least, not in any public data or online discussions—which told me the average citizen probably didn’t know about the Maidens or the deeper lore stuff. That aligned with what I already knew. The staff of Beacon were vaguely mentioned, but nothing too juicy. Everything seemed mostly in place at first glance.

But then, when I started digging deeper—really letting myself spiral down the rabbit holes of social media posts, archived articles, obscure forums—I started noticing some of the effects of [Universal Calibration ll]. One of the biggest changes was the gender ratio. Women now made up around 80% of all births, with men only making up the remaining 20%. It was a massive shift that turned Remnant into a female-dominated society, demographically speaking. Strangely enough, despite being fewer in number, men were still seen as more important in many traditional or social aspects. So, no reversed sexual morality or full-on matriarchy here. But what that did mean, thanks to the skewed ratio, was that harems were now completely normalized. It was just a part of life.

That wasn't the only twist either. Apparently, I wasn’t the only futanari in this world. There was roughly a 20% chance for any female-born child to be a futa. And yes, futanari were also eligible for harems as they grew up, just like men. I honestly found that hilarious. Imagine the logistics of family planning in this society. Kids born from futa and female couples would always end up as either female or futa themselves—there weren’t enough genes from men to maintain the balance. But hey, not my problem.

One of the more interesting things I came across during my search was the stuff about Team STRQ. Specifically, Qrow. In this version of Remnant, Qrow wasn’t male anymore—she was female. That alone was a twist, but what really caught my attention was something I found on Yang Xiao Long’s old social media posts. In one of her childhood rants, she flat-out mentioned that Taiyang wasn’t her biological father, just her adoptive dad. That raised some flags. If Taiyang wasn’t her bio dad, then that meant Summer Rose was her biological mother—and that either Summer or Raven had to be futanari. Probably Summer, but Raven being the bio-mom was also plausible. The whole thing made me chuckle, especially at the idea that Qrow might be Ruby’s real parent. It was just speculation, sure, but it was a funny image in my head, and I clung to it.

After a few hours of obsessive browsing, my momentum finally started to slow. There just wasn’t any more new information available that I didn’t already know from my meta-knowledge. Nothing that would fundamentally shift my understanding of where I was or what I could do. So, with that in mind, I decided it was finally time to act. I couldn’t sit on my ass forever.

Seeing as I was currently located in Kuo Kanna, it only made sense to start tackling one of my [Missions]—specifically, the one involving Adam Taurus, the infamous Mad Bull. My goal? To cuck him. Literally. The [Mission] demanded that I take Blake Belladonna away from him consensually, and honestly, that was something I could throw myself into with gusto. NTR might be a garbage fetish in most cases, but goddamn if it doesn’t have a certain appeal when the target is a piece of shit like Adam.

Besides, I wasn’t just doing this for the [Mission] points. Adam was a toxic, manipulative asshole. Taking Blake away from him wasn’t just fun—it was an act of mercy. I’d be helping her see his true nature earlier than canon would allow, sparing her the emotional scars and baggage that came with staying under his thumb for too long. And if I got to enjoy myself a bit in the process? Even better.

But the plan didn’t stop there. This wasn’t just about romance or scoring [Points]. It was about building power. Acquiring Aura. Elevating faunus-kind. I planned on joining the White Fang—not the broken, extremist version of them that Adam was leading, but the organization that they could be. I’d earn their trust, prove my worth, and once I awakened my Aura, I’d start working from the inside to rebuild them into something better. Something noble. A real force for change, not just a terrorist group lashing out at the world.

Yeah, it was ambitious as hell. A tall order, no doubt. But it was something I was absolutely willing to pursue. And I wasn’t going to do it alone, either. Part of the longer-term plan involved targeting Seinna Khan. The woman was strong, charismatic, and had a significant amount of influence. If I could seduce her—and ideally [Capture] her—I’d have a serious foothold in the White Fang’s upper leadership. That leverage would be invaluable.

From there, once my position in the White Fang was secure, I could move on to my next major [Mission]: putting Weiss Schnee at the helm of the SDC. It wasn’t just about her. With Weiss as the CEO, I could use the SDC to start shifting public perception of the Faunus, using its massive resources and global reach to promote equality and restructure the system from the top down. It would be a huge step toward creating a more balanced world, one that didn’t treat Faunus like second-class citizens.

Yeah, I know. It sounds crazy. Like a massive to-do list written by someone on a power trip. But the truth is, I wasn’t in any rush. I couldn’t leave this world until I completed a bunch of my [Missions] anyway, so I had time. Time to plan, to maneuver, to slowly work my way into the right places, influence the right people, and change the narrative. Every move counted. Every relationship, every battle, every alliance—it all mattered.

And to get started, I just had to pick my first target.

Kuo Kanna wasn’t exactly a glamorous place, but it was where my journey would begin. And it was going to be one hell of a ride.

Thanks to the [Mapper Perk], I was able to locate the elusive headquarters of the White Fang. Their presence on Menagerie wasn't exactly hidden, but actually finding the damn place still took effort. Despite how much the White Fang was hated beyond the shores of Menagerie, the locals here gave them a certain... modicum of respect. Maybe it was because the Fang represented something the faunus here couldn't outright reject—a chance at justice, however twisted it had become.

Their methods had shifted, no doubt. The days of Ghira's peaceful protests and reasoned demands had long since passed. Now, under new leadership, the White Fang had become bolder, louder, and much more willing to throw punches before talking. And yet, no one here spoke against them, not really. It's not like they had many other options. The White Fang was still the only major organization fighting for their kind, even if that fight was beginning to look less like advocacy and more like open rebellion. Who could afford to protest against the only ones protesting for them?

So here I was, standing in front of the White Fang's supposed base of operations. Oddly enough, the building looked more modern than any of the structures I'd passed on the way here—cleaner lines, solid frame, reinforced walls. It stood out, intentionally so.

"Halt!"

The voice snapped me out of my thoughts. Turning to its source, I saw a lone White Fang grunt standing near the entrance. Just one? Either they were confident, or stupid. He didn't look particularly intimidating—standard uniform, no flair, no visible ranking—but he was alert.

"Friend," he said with a practiced firmness, "state your purpose. This area is restricted to White Fang personnel."

Friend. That word made me raise an eyebrow. Not a threat, not an insult, just... "friend." He wasn’t being aggressive, though there was tension in his stance. He was serious, but not hostile. So, I raised both hands in a calming gesture and gave a carefully constructed response.

"Peace. I come bearing interest, having heard that the White Fang welcomes those who share its cause. I seek justice, as many of our kind do. Thus, I have come, hoping to walk alongside my brethren."

Every word crafted carefully. I could never outright lie—not with the Fae watching—but I’d learned how to sidestep truth like a dancer. Calling them my "brethren" might be a stretch, but technically? I was a faunus. At least, my current form—Zani—was. That made the statement true enough to pass the fae’s scrutiny. And I was here to seek justice. Just not the same kind they were preaching. I wanted Credits, leverage, power. The Fang? They were just a means.

The grunt’s grip on his weapon loosened ever so slightly, though he still looked wary.

"Is that so?" he asked slowly. "Well, our doors are open to those who share our ideals... but it’s not often we get someone walking up to them so openly."

"Is that so?" I echoed with a faint smirk. "Nevertheless, here I am. Does my presence and intent not speak loud enough for itself?"

He frowned, clearly torn between protocol and curiosity. Huffing, he finally relented. "Tch. Who am I to turn away a potential comrade? Come, then. I’ll take you to someone who can decide where—if anywhere—you fit."

Internally, I sighed. About damn time.

Following the grunt through the compound, I noticed the sideways glances thrown in my direction. Not hostility, but curiosity. My faunus traits were... unique. I'd searched before—there were no recorded cases of a faunus with two animal traits. So, yeah, that probably explained a few raised eyebrows. Maybe it even explained the grunt’s suspicion earlier. Though honestly, anyone trying to infiltrate the White Fang wouldn’t go out of their way to make themselves more suspicious.

"Here we are, friend," the grunt finally said, gesturing ahead. "This is Officer Rey, one of our recruiters. He’ll figure out what to do with you."

I looked at the man he indicated. Rey was... unimpressive. Thin to the point of being wiry, all skin and bones with the barest hint of muscle. Didn’t exactly scream "officer" to me, but hey, I wasn’t familiar with the White Fang’s internal structure. Maybe he was sharper than he looked. Or maybe he knew how to make himself useful in other ways.

"Greetings?" Rey asked, clearly caught off guard by our sudden appearance.

"Officer Rey," the grunt began formally, "this woman appeared not long ago, expressing interest in joining our ranks. I leave her in your hands to determine her worth."

Without another word, the grunt turned and walked off, leaving the two of us alone. Rey’s gaze lingered on the departing figure, then shifted to me.

"So," he said at last, "you want to join the White Fang?"

I nodded silently.

His eyes flicked downward, landing on my gauntlet. A peculiar piece of tech—one I’d woken up with in this world. Heavy, but familiar, thanks to Zani’s memories and muscle memory. If I hadn’t inherited that experience, I’d probably be dragging the damn thing uselessly.

"You look like a fighter." Rey mused.

Another nod from me.

"Very well. Come with me."

He turned without further ceremony, and I followed. We moved through a series of hallways until we emerged into what looked like a training arena—open space, reinforced floor, padded walls. Several faunus were already mid-spar, their movements fast and fluid, weapons clashing in controlled chaos.

But that wasn’t what caught my attention.

On a raised platform overlooking the training, stood two individuals I hadn’t expected to see just yet: Adam Taurus and Sienna Khan. Adam—red-haired, steely-eyed, cold—and Sienna, regal and commanding. Their presence here was significant. This wasn’t just some backwater recruitment center. This was the heart of something.

"Ah. We got here just in time." Rey muttered under his breath, before approaching the pair.

I followed, catching the tail end of his hushed words to Sienna: "...possible new recruit."

Her gaze snapped toward me—sharp, assessing, but not unkind.

"Is that so?" she said aloud, projecting her voice. "Men!"

The sparring faunus instantly halted, straightening with practiced discipline.

"It seems we have among us a potential recruit—a fighter, no less. So, let us see what strength she brings to our cause."

All eyes turned to me. The weight of their attention didn’t shake me. I met their stares with a tired but steady look. This wasn’t what I had in mind when I decided to make contact, but fuck it—I'd roll with it.

"You!" Sienna called, pointing directly at me. "If you wish to join the White Fang, step forward and prove it!"

Naturally, I did as ordered.

"Now then," she continued, looking over the gathered fighters, "who among you will test this newcomer’s resolve?"

A moment passed. Then, one of the larger faunus—a tiger-type, from the stripes and tail—stepped forward, cracking his knuckles.

"I’ll do it."

Figures. Of course it’d be the big guy.

Rey leaned toward me and whispered, "Don’t hold back. He sure won’t."

I gave him a sidelong glance. "Wasn’t planning to."

Stepping into the circle, I let my gauntlet hum to life, a low vibration of energy thrumming through my arm. The crowd backed up, giving us space.

The tiger faunus grinned at me. "Let’s see what you’ve got, girl."

I tilted my head, a slow smile playing on my lips. "As you wish."

As the match began, I danced around his first charge—quick, clumsy, easy to read. My body remembered Zani’s moves better than I did. My strikes were fluid, powerful, and most importantly, precise. Each hit was a message. I’m not just some dumb muscle walking in off the street. I’m something more. 

Of course, the tiger faunus didn't make the fight easy. He was certainly experienced, the strength behind his blows certainly packed a punch, but it wasn't something I couldn't handle. Still, I could easily end this fight here. Even if I was learning just what Zani had to offer and was limiting myself, only using my fists and none of my more esoteric abilities, I know that I could easily defeat the man. However, this was an opportunity. [Martial Talent] made it so that I could soak anything fighting-related like a sponge, so I just used him to train myself further, to solidify Zani's martial skills, as well as learning new ones.

Eventually, things had to come to an end. Feinting a right hook, the tiger faunus took the bait and tried to defend with both arms, but I immediately followed up with a left uppercut. When I finally knocked him flat on his back, the silence was deafening.

Sienna gave a short nod. "Impressive."

Adam, who had been watching with arms crossed, finally spoke. "We could use someone with your talents. But you’ll have to earn your place."

I bowed my head slightly, a gesture of respect that skirted submission. "Of course. I wouldn’t have it any other way."

And just like that, I’d taken my first step into the lion’s den.

The White Fang had welcomed me in. Now, it was time to play the game—and make damn sure I came out on top.

Chapter Text

{Sienna's POV} 

Well, isn't this a surprise. It's not every day that a faunus shows up on our doorstep, voluntarily, no less, asking to join our cause. Most of the time, recruitment takes a bit more... creativity. Sure, there are the rare few driven solely by ideology, the ones whose hearts beat in tune with our vision for a liberated faunus future, but let's not pretend they're common. Ever since our methods took on a more proactive edge, volunteers have been scarce. We had to adapt. We had to push, prod, and pull willing hands from the corners of society where desperation outpaced hesitation.

Ghira did what he could. His protests were peaceful, his words soft but impactful. He garnered attention, even support. For a time, he was a symbol of what we could be if the world chose to listen. But therein lies the problem—the world never really listened. Not enough. The progress he fought for, the change he dreamed of—it stalled. It sputtered. And eventually, it fell short. Words, no matter how noble, mean nothing when they're met with silence. When they're drowned out by cruelty, bigotry, and systemic apathy, it's not words that make the difference. It's action. And so, we took action.

That change in direction didn't sit well with everyone. Many faunus clung to the old ways, too entrenched in passivity, too afraid to disrupt what little peace they thought they had. They feared what we had become. So, our most fertile ground for new blood became the younger generation—the ones still trying to find their place, still raw, still bold, still pissed the hell off. They came with fire in their hearts, even if they lacked finesse. They were unpredictable, often unpolished, but there was strength in that ambition. There was potential.

Which is why this one caught me off guard.

She showed up unannounced, unprovoked, and unafraid. Late twenties, maybe early thirties, standing with a composure that didn’t scream desperation or recklessness. That in itself was odd. Most of our kind who sought us out were either too young to know better or too broken to care. But she carried herself differently. There was a calmness about her, a stillness that felt deliberate. Calculated, even. It made me wary.

Still, I wasn’t about to turn her away. Not without seeing what she was capable of. We couldn’t afford to ignore potential. If she was legit, she could be exactly what we needed. If she wasn’t, well, we had ways of weeding out those who didn’t belong. So I gave her the opportunity to prove herself. And I’m thankful I did.

She wasted no time. Took down one of our stronger members without breaking a sweat. Clean, efficient, almost surgical in her execution. There wasn’t an ounce of wasted movement in the way she fought, and that alone made people pay attention. It certainly made me pay attention. Her name was Zani—or at least, that's what she gave us. Names can be lies, but hers didn’t feel like one. More like a... mask, maybe. But not a falsehood. There’s something about the way she speaks, the way her words twist and turn without ever quite becoming deceit. A cadence I couldn't place. She doesn’t lie—but that doesn’t mean she tells the truth either. It’s like every sentence she utters dances just around the edges of honesty, and that unsettles me more than any outright deception ever could.

After her first victory, the others got curious. Jealous, even. One after another, they stepped up to challenge her. Some alone, some in pairs, a few brave—or foolish—enough to try in groups. Two, three, even five at once. She took them all. Each fight ended the same. Zani, still standing. Her opponents, humbled or unconscious. And she never once gloated. Never once taunted or belittled. She simply fought with that same calm determination, like she was fulfilling a duty rather than indulging in violence. There was something behind her eyes, too. Tired, yes, but not empty. There was a spark. A quiet kind of joy, perhaps? Or purpose. I couldn’t tell.

Her skill made me wonder if she had once been a Huntress. Everything about her screamed experience. But then, I looked closer. Her body bore wounds—nothing fatal, but numerous. Cuts, bruises, scrapes that hadn’t yet healed. And if she were truly a Huntress, she’d have Aura. Even a depleted Aura begins to mend minor injuries eventually. But hers lingered. That meant she either never had Aura. That’s not something you see every day. Not even in the White Fang. Fighting continuously without Aura.

Regardless of her origins, it felt like fate had finally thrown us a bone. We’ve long been feared for our numbers more than our strength. We swarm. We overwhelm. That was our strategy. It worked, for a time. But it has limits. When you fight like that, you rely on momentum, not mastery. And sooner or later, someone stronger, someone more organized, starts to push back. Hard. We needed quality. We needed power. We needed someone like Adam—well, not exactly like Adam. Less unhinged. More... measured.

Zani has that potential. I see it in the way the others look at her now—with a mix of awe and wariness. She doesn’t command with volume. She doesn't bark orders or demand loyalty. She just moves, and people follow. There's a gravity to her. A presence. And while I’m hopeful she can become a pillar in our cause, I haven’t let my guard down. I didn’t survive this long by being naïve. Trust is a currency too easily stolen.

I’ll be watching her. Closely. Not because I fear betrayal, necessarily—but because there’s something I don’t understand. Something in the way she smiles, even when she's bleeding. In the way she speaks in riddles, half-truths, and elegant evasions. It’s almost... inhuman. No, that’s not quite right. It’s too natural to be alien, too rooted in this world. But it dances along the edge of something else. Something old.

I thought about assigning Adam to keep tabs on her, but that would be a mistake. He’s too forceful, too brash. He’d try to dominate her, to challenge her authority before she even has any. He wouldn’t understand that she doesn’t bend. Not because she’s defiant, but because bending would mean breaking something sacred within her. And if pushed, she’d vanish. I’m sure of that. She’s not the kind to stick around if she feels caged.

No, this job requires subtlety. A gentle hand. Someone who can observe without provoking, who can walk beside her without casting a shadow. I have someone in mind. Someone quiet. Loyal. Someone who won’t be swayed by her charisma—or frightened by it.

There’s something else, too. A lingering sense that she’s not here by accident. That whatever brought her to us did so with purpose. Her timing, her skills, even her demeanor—it all feels too precise to be coincidence. And while she’s never once made a promise, there’s a weight to her presence that makes it feel like she’s already given one. To someone. Or something.

She never lies. Not once. And that might be the most dangerous thing about her.

I’ve led this organization through hell and back. I’ve seen what desperation does to people. I’ve seen what hope can build—and what it can destroy. I know the cost of mistakes. So I will not make the mistake of underestimating Zani. She may very well be our future. Or our doom. Perhaps both.

But for now, she’s ours. And I’ll make damn sure she stays that way.

It has been about a week since I had gotten myself within the White Fang's ranks, and I have to say, it has been quite the exhilarating experience. From the moment I stepped into their territory, the air has felt different—brimming with tension, intensity, and a palpable hunger for strength. A week isn't a long time by most standards, but in the kind of environment the White Fang fosters, it's enough to change a person. Or, in my case, sharpen me further.

Most of my days have been consumed by training. Not because I was told to, but simply because it's what I wanted to do. It called to me. The movement, the clash, the rhythm of combat—it felt like breathing. And thankfully, I was never short on partners willing to step onto the mat with me. Whether out of curiosity, their own desire to improve, or maybe even because their pride was wounded by how quickly I’d defeated them previously, challengers came to me in droves. And I welcomed each one with open arms and a ready stance.

Every single fight offered something new to study, to dissect, and to absorb. I didn’t merely win—I learned. Every stance my opponents assumed, every technique they employed, and every style they tried to surprise me with—it all became a part of me. [Martial Talent] gave me an edge that felt almost unfair. Like the battlefield was a classroom and I was both student and master, endlessly evolving. There was no move I couldn't replicate after witnessing it, no rhythm I couldn't fall into. It got to the point where I could feel myself improving mid-fight. The more they threw at me, the more I adapted.

If they knew how easily I was using them to refine myself, some of them might have cried—no, they would have cried—at the sheer injustice of it all. But alas, the world is not fair. And neither am I.

At this point, I could fluidly switch between multiple fighting styles. Boxing, which Zani was most familiar with, had become my base. But it hadn’t stopped there. I added Karate, Taekwondo, Muay Thai, and even Capoeira to my growing arsenal. And it wasn’t just unarmed combat—I had been picking up weapon techniques as well. Simple blades, bo staves, and even more complex, mecha-shift weapons—those bizarre amalgamations of steel and tech—were no longer foreign to me. I wasn’t a master yet, not in all of them, but I could hold my own. And that was enough to turn heads.

Unsurprisingly, the higher-ups began to take notice. Word travels fast in a place like the White Fang, and even faster when fights draw crowds. Blake Belladonna, one of the few known Aura users in the organization and someone held in both fear and admiration, was the first to approach me directly.

"Pretty impressive." she said, arms crossed over her chest, voice calm but tinged with something... curious. She leaned against the wall with an ease that only someone dangerous could manage, watching as I handed yet another grunt his ass.

I glanced her way, a smirk tugging at the corner of my lips. "You think so?" I asked, my words light, almost teasing. Not a lie, of course. I can’t lie, not even in jest. But I could twist truths, let others read into them however they wanted. I already knew my performance had been nothing short of spectacular, at least by the standards of the White Fang's usual recruits.

That morning, I had skipped any idle chatter and gone straight to the training grounds after breakfast. Issuing a challenge had become something of a daily ritual for me, and as expected, plenty had stepped up. I fought, I learned, I grew, only pausing for a brief lunch before continuing. By the time the sun began to set, I was still going strong. My muscles were sore, my Aura slightly diminished, but the fire within me had only grown brighter.

Blake pushed off the wall with a scoff, pulling out a folded piece of paper and offering it to me. "Normally, new recruits wouldn’t be assigned to a mission this early. But Sienna thinks you’ve shown more than enough to justify an exception. Here—read it. We leave tomorrow morning, before the sun even considers rising."

I took the paper and opened it with deliberate care. It detailed a relatively simple mission: guarding a group of faunus miners for a few days while they extracted ore. A standard assignment with low risk, but it came with responsibility. Apparently, twenty percent of whatever they dug up would be given to the White Fang. That explained the concern.

"Guard duty, huh? Doesn’t sound all that difficult." I hummed, eyes skimming over the finer points. "Still, if it keeps greedy hands and Grimm away from the workers, I suppose it’s worth the effort."

"Tomorrow morning, then?" I asked, folding the paper back neatly.

She nodded without a word, then turned to leave. Her silent departure was graceful, measured—typical Blake. I watched her go, unable to stop my eyes from trailing downward. That hypnotizing Bellabooty deserved appreciation, after all. It would’ve been disrespectful not to look.

Anyway, the mission was simple enough on the surface: protect the miners, make sure the operation runs smoothly, fend off any underground Grimm if they show up. But what intrigued me more wasn’t the mission itself—it was the person I’d be partnered with.

Blake Belladonna.

She had said it herself. We’d be working together on this mission, which meant I’d finally get the chance I’d been looking for. Since arriving at the White Fang, I’d been trying to get closer to her. She intrigued me. Not just because she was skilled or carried herself with that elusive, almost feline grace, or because of the [Mission] involving her, or because she was a main character, but because I could feel something behind those eyes of hers. Depth. Mystery. Pain. Strength.

Unfortunately, my attempts at conversation had mostly been met with polite indifference. I wasn’t offended, though. If anything, it made the chase more enjoyable. Like stalking a particularly clever cat. Now, with this mission, I’d finally have time. Time to talk. Time to watch. Time to understand.

Time to tame.

So, I had to prepare. Not just physically—I was already in peak condition—but mentally, emotionally, even spiritually. Because dealing with someone like Blake meant walking a line. She was sharp. Observant. And if I wasn’t careful, she’d pick up on things I didn’t want noticed. Like how I never quite answer questions directly. Or how I always speak with layered truths.

Still, I wasn't worried.

The night passed with quiet anticipation. I sharpened my weapons, went over known Grimm classifications that might emerge from underground terrain, and meditated briefly beneath the moonlight. My body ached slightly, but it was a pleasant soreness—earned through effort, through battle. A promise of strength yet to be fully realized.

When dawn approached, I was already dressed and waiting at the rendezvous point. Blake arrived precisely on time, her face as unreadable as ever. We said little, but that was fine. I wasn’t in a hurry. The road ahead was long, and the mission would last several days. Plenty of opportunities would come.

And like all things worth having, I would take my time.

I had a kitty to tame.

{Blake's POV}

I normally don't take these kinds of missions—guard duty for a small group of miners? Not my style. Usually, I’m sent to protect larger groups. Bigger groups attract more dangerous Grimm, the sort that demand real attention. Threats that matter. This? This wasn’t exactly high priority. But being part of the White Fang meant more than chasing glory. It meant watching out for our own, even when it was mundane. That said, the main reason I accepted this assignment wasn’t just about protecting our brethren—it was because of Sienna.

Zani. That was the reason. Or rather, the mystery that was Zani. Her strength, her origins, hell, even her presence felt... off. Suspicious. Too good to be true, if I’m being honest. And Sienna agreed. She gave me this assignment not just to guard the miners, but to observe Zani. Study her. Figure out whether she was truly one of us—or a threat hiding in plain sight. If she was the latter, I’d report it. No question. But even if she was a spy, Sienna wanted me to ensure her loyalty. To be a guiding eye, to shape her path toward our cause.

A few months ago, I wouldn’t have hesitated. I’d have done it all with confidence, heart, and conviction. But now? Now, my own loyalty to the White Fang was... shaky. I joined because I believed in change. I believed Father’s peaceful protests weren’t enough. That standing on the sidelines, begging for scraps, was weakness. I thought we needed to rise up, take what was ours, demand our place in the world. And maybe, in some ways, I still believe that.

But what the White Fang had become... it wasn’t what I signed up for.

They weren’t just rising up anymore. They were stomping down. Hurting others. Retaliating with cruelty instead of justice. I once thought roughing up a human who paid Faunus poorly was justice. Now I see it for what it was—revenge masked as activism. It’s one thing to protect our own. Another to inflict pain for the sake of power. The cycle won’t end that way. An eye for an eye just leaves everyone blind.

So even if Zani was a spy, I didn’t know what I’d do. Turn her in? Side with her? I wasn’t sure. But for now, I stayed. Because part of me still had hope. Hope that the White Fang could be better. Could return to something worth fighting for.

"And that’s that." Zani declared, clapping her hands together. She had just wiped out a group of Creeps with ease, like swatting flies. I blinked, still in awe of her raw strength. No Aura, no weapon tricks, just muscle, speed, and pure presence. It always threw me off. One of our members once joked—maybe half-serious—that Zani was evolution incarnate. The next step for Faunus. Two animal traits instead of one. A theory, sure, but it stuck with me. She had the curled horns of a ram, but that tail? That wasn’t any ram’s. It looked more like something out of a demon’s profile in an old fantasy book.

I didn’t believe she was the next step or whatever, but I couldn’t deny her strangeness—or her power.

“Thanks, Miss Zani!” one of the miners called out, nodding with respect before returning to his work. I watched him for a second. He had been scared, for good reason. The Grimm weren’t supposed to be this close. We’d marked their territory, left them alone, hoping they'd do the same. Guess they didn’t get the memo. A small squad had decided to test their luck. Didn’t end well—for them.

"Do you hear any more Grimm nearby?" Zani asked, turning toward me. Her tone was calm, composed. Not even a hint of stress, despite the skirmish.

I closed my eyes, focused. Nothing. No growls, no whispers of claws on stone. I shook my head.

"That's good," she replied, her voice brushing against my ears like silk drawn across skin. "I was planning to make lunch. Want some?"

I blinked. Lunch? Now?

She gestured toward a crate she’d brought along, packed with more gear than I’d expected. Cooking gear, of all things. Not a lunchbox, not a thermos. A whole damn setup. Who brings a skillet and seasoning to a mining outpost?

Apparently Zani does.

I was about to decline—my tuna sandwich would do fine—but then I saw it. Salmon. Actual, fresh, pink-orange, perfectly cut salmon. The contrast was brutal. I hesitated. My stomach growled. Damn it all.

"If you're offering." I muttered, trying to sound casual.

She gave a small smile. Just a twitch of her lips. But it made me forget how to breathe.

Zani was... captivating. There was no other word. She had a body sculpted by war, labor, and some cosmic joke that mixed lethal force with hourglass curves. Broad hips, tighter waist, hard-earned muscle—all wrapped in the tired, no-nonsense confidence of someone who didn’t have time for bullshit. And her voice... gods. That voice scratched something in the back of my mind every time she spoke. Rough velvet. Like she was constantly one breath away from teasing you, even when she was just talking about rations.

I wasn’t the only one affected either. Word among the White Fang was that most of the guys—and a few of the girls—wanted to fight her just to say they got taken down by her. I wouldn’t be surprised if half of them walked away with a fresh defeat kink after sparring with her.

My thoughts were derailed by a smell that hit me like a damn truck. I turned my gaze toward her cooking station, eyes locking onto the sizzling salmon in her pan. It wasn’t just food—it was art. She handled it all with a quiet grace, her movements precise, efficient, almost elegant. How someone could look so natural filleting fish on a battlefield, I didn’t know.

Eventually, she turned and handed me a plate.

"Here. Eat while I bring the rest to the miners. Poor souls must be starving with all this aroma."

I barely registered her words. My eyes were glued to the plate in my hands. The fish was perfectly cooked, steaming, glistening slightly with a brush of something sweet and spicy. I could see flecks of herbs, a hint of lemon zest.

I took a bite. And nearly moaned. I had to physically stop myself from making a sound.

Zani was strong, sexy, and a damn good cook. Whoever managed to claim her heart would be one lucky bastard. And I was kind of pissed about that. Because yeah, I was starting to catch feelings. Against all my better judgment, despite every red flag waving in the back of my mind. I was falling for her.

This was hardly our first interaction. Ever since coming to the White Fang, she had been trying to talk to me. I usually try to pretend ignoring her, but she was pretty good with her words.

She returned shortly, offering plates to the grateful miners with that same reserved grace. Watching her, I wondered again about her origins. There was something undeniably mysterious about her. She never gave full answers, always skirting around the edge of truth without ever crossing into deceit. That should’ve been a warning sign. But it just made her more fascinating.

“Will you always be bringing cooking gear to missions?” I asked as she finally sat beside me, tucking into her own meal.

She glanced my way, then gave a faint shrug. “There’s comfort in fire. And flavor. I see no reason to deny it, even out here. Survival’s not just about staying alive. It’s about living.”

Her words were strange, poetic even. Not how most people in the White Fang talked. But something in her tone told me she meant every word.

“You talk weird sometimes.” I said, not unkindly.

She chuckled, quiet and low. “I speak as I am.”

“What does that even mean?”

She didn’t answer directly. Just tilted her head, the corner of her mouth twitching again. “The world is shaped by names, Blake. And truths are often cloaked by simple words. Better to speak clearly, than lie poorly.”

I frowned, chewing on both my food and her words. It felt like she was telling me something without actually telling me anything. Again. Always dancing on that edge.

She continued eating, unbothered. Completely at peace in the middle of a dusty, dangerous outpost. Like she belonged here more than anyone.

I watched her for a while longer, my earlier suspicions tangled up with a growing sense of respect, admiration, and, yeah, attraction. Zani was a mystery, sure. But she was also real. Tangible. Grounded in a way I hadn’t felt in a long time.

And maybe that was why I couldn’t decide what to do with her.

Spy, ally, or something in between—Zani was now part of my mission. Not just because Sienna said so, but because I wanted to understand her. To figure her out. Not just for the White Fang.

But for me.

{Zani's POV}

My plan was, at its core, disarmingly simple: win Blake's heart through her stomach. It was a well-worn sentiment, typically aimed at wooing men, but I saw no reason it couldn’t be applied to women as well. After all, it wasn’t as if men held some monopoly on enjoying good food. And Blake, for all her coolness and distance, was still just as susceptible to the gentle power of a masterfully cooked meal.

Naturally, I didn’t stop at just feeding her. No, I spoke with her too. Not in grand declarations or bold confessions, but in careful, deliberate doses. The kind that slid under the skin before you even noticed they were there. Blake was usually quiet—stoic, distant. But I saw it. The way her golden eyes lingered a second longer when I spoke. The way her ears would twitch, not in irritation, but in thought. My words landed. That was all I needed.

My mission—no, my seduction—revolved around three pillars: food, conversation, and flirtation. The latter, of course, required a bit more finesse. I never pushed too hard, just enough to let her feel the heat without burning her fingers. I flirted with the kind of careful subtlety that made it seem natural. Like we were always meant to dance along that edge, toeing the line between companionship and something more.

And I didn't neglect the power of appearance, either. Whenever a Grimm dared show its face, I made quick work of it. Fast, efficient, but always with just a bit of flair. My movements practiced and purposeful, a display of strength wrapped in elegance. Letting her see me in action was just as essential as the food or the words. Everyone respects power. Blake, especially. She may not admit it aloud, but I could tell she admired those who could stand their ground—and look good doing it.

Piece by piece, I was breaking through her walls. Slowly, deliberately. She’d glance at me longer. Speak a little more. Ask questions. Not much, but enough. Enough for me to believe that I was making progress. Still, I knew better than to overestimate my success. There was the inconvenient truth of Adam still hanging around her neck like a millstone.

Blake was in a relationship, and no normal person would just cheat on their partner because someone prettier walked into the room and smiled at them. Unless, of course, something was already fractured beneath the surface. That kind of thing doesn’t always show in public, but it always shows eventually.

But Blake didn’t strike me as the type to stray. Not without a reason. And certainly not unless that reason aligned with her sense of justice or truth. I needed to do more than tempt her—I had to show her that Adam wasn’t worthy of her. That his love, if it could even be called that, was a cage made of obsession and cruelty. I needed her to see it for herself.

Of course, orchestrating something like that was easier said than done. Unless, by sheer fortune, I could find a way to be assigned on a mission with both Blake and Adam. That would be ideal. Let the man expose himself in the field, in front of her. He always did when he wasn’t being watched—or when he thought no one would question his methods. Still, I had about two months of free time left before Blake’s own disillusionment was meant to happen naturally. I had time. I could wait. I could set the stage.

If the perfect opportunity never came, I’d take the other route. Escalation. Push harder. Make her feel things. Be undeniable.

Or... a different idea flickered in my mind, soft and sly. There was another path—one I had nearly forgotten due to how rarely it came up. The [Therianthrope Heritage]. A blessing or a curse, depending on your perspective. I opened my [Company Phone], scrolling quickly to confirm what I half-remembered.

It was possible. I could use it to mark someone for capture... but there was a condition. I had to be in my [Bestial Form] for it to take effect. That was the caveat. And therein lay the complication.

Everyone knew I didn’t have an Aura. It was something of a defining trait, a weakness that I wore like armor. If I suddenly transformed into a wereram with no warning, that would raise far too many questions. Questions I wasn’t inclined to answer. People were always so nosy when something didn’t fit their expectations.

The only solution, then, was to get my Aura unlocked. Simple in theory. But in practice? Not so much. Unlocking someone’s Aura was deeply personal. It wasn’t like asking for a favor or a cup of tea. Even someone as pragmatic as Sienna wouldn’t just do it because I asked nicely. If that were the case, half the White Fang would already be walking around Aura-buffed and grimm-attracting.

Besides, unlocking someone’s Aura wasn’t without consequences. It made you a magnet for Grimm. The stronger your emotions, the more likely they’d sniff you out. That trade-off wasn’t something everyone was willing to make.

That said, I had a theory. A path forward. If I continued to prove myself—through combat, strategy, and sheer usefulness—Sienna might be persuaded. She wasn’t sentimental, but she wasn’t blind either. She valued strength. Efficiency. Results.

And, between us, capturing Sienna would be significantly easier than Blake. Not because she lacked depth, but because she wasn’t buried under layers of unresolved teenage angst and moral quandaries. Sienna was direct. Sharp. A predator through and through.

Nodding to myself, I decided that once this mission was complete, I’d shift focus. Make a few moves. Plant seeds. I had always been a cat person, and I was starting to think that one kitty just wouldn’t be enough.

Fuck it—why stop there? Why not collect the whole set? Kahli, too. She had that fiery spirit, and I couldn’t ignore the thrill of the chase. Ghira might be a decent man, but I had my own goals. I needed my Bellabooties, and I was willing to work for them.

Of course, all of this had to be done carefully. Truthfully. Not because I was particularly noble, but because my words couldn’t carry falsehood. Not in the way others lied, anyway. My patron ensured my tongue wove only truths. Even when I twisted them, they remained rooted in honesty. So every compliment I gave, every plan I suggested, every promise I made... all true. Every last one.

Which made the game more dangerous—and more exhilarating.

Every dish I cooked for Blake, every shared moment, every quiet word beneath the stars—none of it could be dismissed as mere manipulation. Because I did want her. I desired her strength, her intelligence, her fire. Her everything.

So I played the long game. Watching. Waiting. Planning.

Sooner or later, the perfect moment would arrive. Whether it was a mission that brought Blake and Adam to the same field, or Sienna unlocking my Aura in a fit of pragmatism, or Kahli revealing a weakness I could exploit—it didn’t matter.

I would be ready.

Chapter Text

{Sienna's POV} 

In the White Fang's admittedly short and turbulent history, no one had ever climbed the ranks as fast—or as memorably—as Zani did. The woman was not only horrifyingly strong for someone who lacked even a trace of Aura, but she also possessed a natural charisma that pulled people in like gravity. There was something magnetic about her presence, even when she was playing the part of an overworked civilian, shuffling through papers or grumbling about mundane tasks. That unassuming front, oddly enough, only enhanced her charm. It made her relatable. Human. Well, as human as a Faunus could be in the eyes of society.

It was no surprise to any of us that she rose quickly, though the how of it still bewildered many. In just under two months—barely enough time for most recruits to learn the basic structure of our operations—Zani had carved out a reputation so solid and dependable that promoting her to the rank of Lieutenant felt not only logical, but inevitable. She worked tirelessly, made a name for herself on and off the battlefield, and carried out every mission with a level of dedication that bordered on obsessive. And yet, she never seemed to ask for recognition. That humility only solidified her worth in my eyes.

Of course, I wouldn't have allowed her promotion if I’d still had doubts about her intentions. I’ve been burned before, and I’m not in the habit of repeating mistakes. But both Blake and I had kept a close watch on her—quietly, carefully—and what we saw only reassured us. Zani didn’t seek power for its own sake. She genuinely believed in our cause, in justice for the Faunus. She may not have spoken about it often, but it showed in the way she fought, in the way she spoke during briefings, in how she treated her comrades.

Unlike Adam, whose anger so often crossed the line into something far darker, Zani possessed restraint. Even when fighting humans, she never seemed eager to kill. I’d seen it. She struck hard, fast, efficiently—but there was never malice in her eyes. That was more than I could say for Adam, who, despite my efforts, seemed incapable of understanding that being proactive didn’t mean treating murder as a first response. He believed fear was our greatest weapon, but he failed to see the damage it caused to our image. We were trying to gain respect—not become the monsters they accused us of being.

And yet, his approach was gaining traction. Young, impressionable recruits—burning with pain and anger—gravitated to him. They didn’t see the bigger picture, couldn’t understand the ramifications of blindly following someone like Adam. I knew I was being too lenient with him, but the truth was, I needed his strength. Among the ranks, the names people whispered with reverence or fear were his and mine. As much as I hated to admit it, Adam's notoriety gave us leverage, even if it came at a cost.

But that couldn’t last forever. There comes a point when the damage outweighs the utility, and I feared we were nearing that threshold. Perhaps we had already crossed it. I might’ve tolerated him longer, if not for the fact that Zani had proven herself to be a viable alternative. More than viable. She had earned not just the trust of the White Fang’s members—but mine as well.

And that alone was no small feat.

I had begun to think, perhaps it was time to finally put down the rabid dog before he turned on the hand that fed him.

"High Leader Sienna."

I turned at the sound of her voice, unsurprised by the ever-composed figure of Zani standing in the doorway. She looked, as always, tired—but not in a way that suggested weakness. It was the exhaustion of someone who trained harder than anyone else in the compound, who gave her all to the cause every day and night without pause. That was another reason why we’d dismissed the possibility of her being a spy. No infiltrator would throw themselves into our mission with such genuine fervor, not without slipping up. Not without betraying some ulterior motive. Zani never did.

"Yes, Lieutenant Zani?" I responded, allowing my gaze to travel briefly over her form. Despite her lack of Aura, her physique was... impressive. She was lean, but powerful. Muscular in all the right places, yet somehow maintaining a sculpted, hourglass silhouette that looked more suited for a modeling agency than a battlefield. Her workout routines were nothing short of brutal—I've watched her spar multiple times, usually against multiple opponents, and she never once held back. Yet, curiously, her body never seemed to bulk up the way you’d expect. No matter how hard she trained, she retained the same shape—taut, strong, but not hulking. It defied logic. I had to remind myself that not everything in this world adhered to conventional explanation.

One visible change had taken root, though: the tattoos. Zani had slowly begun decorating her body with ink, starting with an intricate design wrapping around her neck. It was striking—elegant, even. Tasteful. Artistic. I had no idea whether she did them herself or commissioned them from someone in the shadows, but either way, it added to her appeal. There was something raw and honest in the way she adorned herself. Like every mark on her skin meant something.

"I've gone through the reports you submitted earlier," she continued, holding out a neatly organized set of folders, her tone calm and precise. "They’ve been categorized by urgency. The top folders cover situations that demand immediate attention. The rest are of lesser priority but still warrant review."

Ah. This too was part of why I had pushed for her promotion. Zani wasn’t just a capable fighter—she was efficient. Dependable. Focused. She treated paperwork with the same intensity she treated a mission, never missing a deadline, never submitting anything less than pristine. A rare quality among our ranks, to be perfectly honest.

I took the folders from her hands and skimmed through the contents. As expected, everything was in order.

"If that’s the case, then you may take your leave. Thank you for the hard work, Lieutenant Zani." I said, genuinely pleased. It was rare I handed out praise without some hidden edge to it, but Zani had earned every word.

She nodded in response. "It is no trouble. I merely did what needed to be done."

There it was again—that particular way she phrased things. Zani always spoke as though every word had been weighed carefully in her head before it reached her tongue. Not hesitant, but deliberate. She never made false promises, never exaggerated, and certainly never lied. It was strange, now that I thought about it. Not in a suspicious way, but... intriguing.

"Still, your diligence hasn’t gone unnoticed." I added, tapping the folders lightly against my palm. "You’ve done more in two months than most of our officers do in a year."

Zani's expression didn't change much, though the corners of her lips lifted just slightly. "Recognition was never the goal. I act in accordance with what is right."

Of course she did. That was the most Zani answer imaginable.

"That may be," I said with a low chuckle, "but in our world, doing the right thing rarely gets rewarded. You’re a rare case."

She tilted her head. "Perhaps. Or perhaps timing merely favors me."

Her words hung in the air longer than they should’ve. Timing. Fate. Coincidence. I didn’t believe in much of that—there was always a reason for everything. And the more I watched Zani, the more I began to wonder what, exactly, had brought her to us.

No Aura. No obvious ties. Yet stronger than almost any Faunus I’d met, and more grounded than any idealist I’d ever worked with. She was a mystery wrapped in sharpness and precision, and oddly enough, I trusted her more because of that. She didn’t make herself out to be a savior. She just worked, fought, and moved forward with an unshakable sense of purpose.

"Before you go, Lieutenant," I said, leaning back slightly, eyes narrowing just a bit. "How do you manage to keep this pace up? Most people would have collapsed weeks ago."

Zani blinked once, slowly. "I rest in the cracks between seconds, and I feed off progress."

I stared at her for a beat, then snorted softly. "Now that’s the most poetic thing I’ve heard all day."

She gave a faint shrug. "I speak only truths."

That, somehow, I did not doubt.

As she turned to leave, the faintest shimmer of ink peeked beneath her collar, curling like smoke across her collarbone. More tattoos, I assumed. I wondered if they had meaning. Symbols. Stories. Maybe one day I’d ask.

But for now, I merely watched her go, wondering how long it would take for the others to start seeing what I saw.

Not just a soldier.

A force.

Maybe even a future.

And maybe—just maybe—the end of Adam.

If Zani was the blade, then perhaps I was the hand that would wield her.

{Zani's POV}

It has been a month since I joined the White Fang, and through sheer grit, ruthless efficiency, and a good dose of charisma, I’ve managed to rise to the rank of Lieutenant. It’s not something that would ever fly in a structured, legitimate military, but then again, the White Fang is far from that. Menagerie doesn’t have a proper government, not really, and while Sienna tries to present herself as composed and in control, it’s clear she’s desperately grasping for strong and capable individuals to support her. She may not say it aloud—hell, she might not even admit it to herself—but desperation has a way of seeping through even the finest of facades.

Of course, my rapid ascension wasn’t without friction. Plenty of the older members—the veterans who’d been spilling blood under the White Fang banner long before I showed up—weren’t exactly pleased with my meteoric rise. Jealousy, doubt, fear—it came in many forms, but all of them tried to downplay my efforts. The loudest of them all? Adam. No surprise there. The man carries around a superiority complex big enough to blot out the sun.

But when I challenged the doubters to step up and prove themselves against me, most of them shut the fuck up real quick. It wasn’t about dominance—it was about clarity. Either they could prove they were better, or they had to accept that I was. Most of them took the hint. Strangely, Adam didn’t. He didn’t accept, didn’t even make an effort. Instead, he sulked like a child denied his favorite toy. Grumbling under his breath, throwing tantrums in private, avoiding confrontation like a coward. If he truly believed I was beneath him, he would’ve taken the opportunity to beat me down and parade it around. But he didn’t. Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?

Honestly, I was pretty damn sure I could take him. Adam is strong—probably one of the strongest within the White Fang, and with his Aura already unlocked, he’s got that edge over most. But I’m not most. I’ve got Zani’s battle instincts—refined, vicious, unrelenting. And I haven’t stopped sharpening my martial skill, using [Martial Talent] to push past limits, training obsessively. I’d wager that in a pure martial showdown, if I went all out, I could hold my own against a Tier 6 opponent. That’s not bravado. That’s just truth, plain and sharp.

Part of why I moved up the ladder so fast is because I was smart enough to [Capture] a good number of White Fang members. It started off simple, really. I decided to get a tattoo—pure aesthetics. No grand statement, no hidden meaning. But somehow, it caught attention. The intrigue was instant. Members started asking about it, admiring it. Soon, people lined up asking me to give them one. Before I knew it, I was the White Fang’s de facto tattoo artist.

But let’s not kid ourselves. They weren’t lining up just for the ink. No, they wanted to get close. Zani’s appearance—my appearance—is the kind that drives people to temptation. A glance, a touch, a smile—it was enough to make them willing. I didn’t even need to lure them; they came to me. And I used that, wholeheartedly. [Capture] after [Capture], and before long, I had accumulated a solid [30 Credits]. Enough to make a decent payment toward my [Loan], though not as much as I had hoped.

I’ve [Captured] more than thirty people, but only those classified as [T5 Extras] actually earn me anything. The rest? Worthless in terms of Credit, which is disappointing, but not unexpected. Still, the [Extras] I’ve gained are marked as [Devotees] and will remain as such. Most of them are women, and unsurprisingly, they fit a very specific aesthetic that aligns with my personal tastes. Beautiful, elegant, easy to manipulate.

But as convenient as having them is, I don’t care much for enslaving people simply because I can. I prefer my [Companions] to be more than just eye candy or willing pets. I want people who interest me, who challenge me, who make me want to learn about them. Power, after all, means little if you’re surrounded only by sycophants.

Now that I hold the rank of Lieutenant, things are different. People look at me with a mix of awe, curiosity, and fear. But I haven’t yet asked Sienna to unlock my Aura. That kind of request can’t be made directly—not from me. No, I’ve been nudging her gently, making her think it’s her own idea. Let her believe she’s guiding me. That’s the trick. She likes to feel in control, even when she’s not. Honestly, I probably should have just asked outright. I was underestimating how charming I could be. A misstep on my part, though not a costly one.

I’ve been continuing my slow and subtle seduction of Blake. It was part of the plan originally—to gain her trust and affection and then [Capture] her when the moment was right. I figured that having Aura would help mask the signs when I tapped into my wereram form, allowing me to use one of the latent powers granted by my [Heritage]. I saw that as the most strategic route.

But it turns out my [Communication Talent] was more effective than anticipated. I didn’t need to rely on brute manipulation. Words, glances, half-truths wrapped in charm—it was enough to start wearing down her walls. Blake is strong-willed, yes, but even stone wears down under constant pressure. I don’t need to lie to make people believe in me. That’s the beauty of it. Every word I speak is true, even if not all of it is said.

Blake’s been growing more curious, more vulnerable. She tries to hide it—gods, she tries—but I can see the way she watches me. The hesitation. The confusion. The way her lips twitch like they want to ask something they don’t have the courage to voice. She’s cracking. Not shattered, not yet, but the fissures are spreading, and soon she’ll fall. Into my hands, into my arms—whichever comes first.

And then there’s Adam. More unstable by the day. His cruelty has intensified, lashing out more often, hurting those he used to merely command. He says it’s for the cause, but we all know it’s because of me. My rise threatens his authority. My presence drains the loyalty of those who used to follow him blindly. He’s a storm barely contained, and while he hasn’t challenged me openly, it’s a close thing. I can see the tension building in his shoulders, the fury he tries to keep under wraps. He wants to strike. He just doesn’t dare. Yet.

And I’m watching. Always watching. Waiting for the moment he slips, because when he does, I’ll be ready. I don’t seek conflict for the sake of it, but I won’t back down from it either. Especially not with someone like him.

There’s a poetry to all this. A dance of power and perception, of silent battles and spoken truths. I walk the line between manipulation and honesty, never stepping fully into deceit. I don’t have that luxury, nor do I need it. Everything I say is true—just not always in the way people assume. And that’s the trick, isn’t it? Let them believe what they want to believe. Feed their expectations, let them fill in the blanks.

I’ve woven myself into the very fabric of the White Fang. With every passing day, my influence grows. My web stretches wider. Sienna may think she holds the leash, but she doesn't see the threads I've already wound around her. Blake is being pulled deeper with every conversation, every brush of the hand, every shared glance. Even Adam, with all his rage and pride, dances to a tune he doesn’t realize I’m playing.

And as for me? I wait. I plan. I smile. My hands ink tattoos by day and build empires by night. Every action, every word, is a step forward.

Soon, everything will fall into place. And when it does, they’ll all look back and wonder how it happened.

But I’ll know.

I was always honest. Just not always loud.

{Blake's POV}

"Sweetie. Are you alright?"

I quickly rubbed at my eyes, wiping away the fresh tears before she could see them. Of all people, I didn’t want her to witness me like this—not her. Not Zani.

"I'm fine, Zani..." I replied, attempting to sound composed, trying to mimic strength I didn’t feel. But I failed, spectacularly so. My voice cracked mid-sentence, betraying every emotion I tried to bury.

Zani’s expression softened instantly. Her hand—soft yet firm, warm with concern—rested gently on my shoulder before pulling me into a hug. Her embrace was immediate, unwavering, and familiar now. A month ago, I would’ve flinched away from such a gesture. But now? Now I melted into her touch like it was the only thing holding me together.

"Oh, Sweetie. Was Adam being cruel again?"

Her tone was honey-sweet, but there was a steel edge buried in it. She always spoke like that—gentle, honest, but with an undercurrent of righteous fury. I didn’t answer right away. Instead, I closed my eyes and let myself feel the warmth of her arms around me, the careful way she stroked circles along my back, grounding me.

"You only get like this whenever Adam’s involved," she continued, voice low and calm, almost whispering. "So tell me what he did this time, so I can beat some fucking sense into him."

I let out a soft, humorless laugh that immediately turned into a sob. Her hug tightened. It always did, right when I needed it most.

It was all so unfair. I had come to the White Fang chasing justice. I wanted to elevate the Faunus, to raise us to where we deserved to be—respected, equal, not treated like beasts because of our traits. I believed words had failed. I believed action was necessary.

I believed in Adam.

He seemed like a force of nature when I first followed him. So headstrong. So sure. A leader who wouldn't be ignored. When others gave up, he moved. He acted. He made them listen.

But now, the man I once admired, the man I once loved, had veered so far off course that I could barely recognize him anymore. The darkness he once fought had become his own path.

And the White Fang? High Leader Sienna just watched. She let him take the reins. Let him twist the movement into something else. Something vile.

I used to think Father was too passive, too idealistic. I believed that the White Fang's new direction was necessary. But now, it had become a monster Adam claimed to control. And Adam? He had become worse than the ones we fought against.

These past weeks had been a nightmare. Adam wasn’t just targeting humans—he was torturing them. I couldn’t understand it. Couldn’t justify it. Every time I confronted him, he called it necessary. He believed cruelty would bring clarity. That fear was the only language they understood.

We argued. Constantly. He wouldn’t listen. And I would end up crying, again and again, trying to reconcile who he was now with the man I once gave my heart to.

And every single time—every single fucking time—Zani would find me.

I don’t know how. It was like she had a sixth sense that led her straight to my tears. And when she came, she would always brush them away, whispering the most ridiculous, comforting, beautiful things into my ear. Promises of vengeance, of protection, of caring. She'd threaten to beat Adam’s ass and honestly, it was getting harder and harder to convince her not to.

Not because I was worried for her—no, Zani could take Adam in a fight. And he knew it. That’s why he’d grown more brutal since she arrived.

He feared her.

Zani was everything Adam wasn't. A natural-born leader who drew loyalty out of genuine respect, not fear. She was competent, charismatic, unwavering in her will, and the moment she joined, people noticed. Within a month, she rose to Lieutenant. That didn’t just happen—not in the White Fang. And now, those who once stood by Adam had begun flocking to her.

And yet, I never blamed her for any of it.

Everything Adam became? That was on him.

Still, it all left me lost, adrift in emotions I couldn’t untangle. I wanted to believe I could bring Adam back from this. That I could guide him away from the path he was walking. But he wouldn’t listen. He couldn’t even see how far he'd fallen.

And then there was Zani.

Zani, who never left my side. Who could break bones with a flick of her wrist but still held me like I was something delicate, something precious. Zani, who had eyes like bloody rubies—full of quiet power and endless depth. Zani, who made me feel like maybe, just maybe, I deserved to be loved.

The scariest part? I had started falling for her. Slowly at first. Little glances. The soft way she smiled at me when she thought I wasn’t looking. The way she always knew what to say—never untrue, never cruel. And then one day, I realized I had stopped thinking about Adam and had started thinking about her. About what it would be like to fall asleep beside her. About what her lips would feel like on mine.

It was a slow-burning, unshakable thing.

"...It's not worth it, Zani," I said finally, breaking the silence between us. "I don't think Adam could ever see reason anymore."

The words hurt to say. Like giving up on an old dream. But they were true. Adam wasn’t who I thought he was. Maybe he never was. Maybe I only ever saw what I wanted to see.

We settled into a quiet hum of nothingness, the kind of silence that only existed between people who knew each other deeply. Zani’s arm stayed around me, solid and reassuring.

"Well then," she said after a moment, her voice calm, but edged with meaning, "I suppose I’ll need to speak with High Leader Sienna."

My ears twitched involuntarily. I turned to face her, confused.

"Why? It’s just... just an argument, Zani. You don’t have to bring High Leader Sienna into my pathetic excuse of a love life." I shifted awkwardly, heat creeping up my face. I wasn’t even sure you could call what Adam and I had a relationship anymore.

Zani shook her head, her expression unreadable. "You knew Adam best. Of all of us, you understood how he thinks. If even you say he’s beyond reason, then it’s time to consider that Adam might be far more dangerous than we’ve allowed ourselves to believe."

There was no anger in her words. Only truth. Cold, clear truth.

"Sienna has been watching him too," she added. "Even if she hasn’t said it outright, she’s worried. And you? You’ve confirmed her fears."

I was quiet for a long time.

She wasn’t wrong. As much as I hated to admit it, Adam’s actions needed consequences. Whether or not I still had feelings for him didn’t matter. What mattered was stopping him before he did something that couldn’t be undone.

Even if it meant standing against someone I once loved.

"I see..." I murmured, chewing the inside of my cheek.

Zani waited, patient as ever.

Eventually, reason won out. I nodded, firm despite the unease curling in my chest. "Then let’s go. Let’s talk to High Leader Sienna. Together."

Her eyes met mine, and for a brief moment, something passed between us. Something quiet and tender and real. She offered me her hand, and I took it.

Fingers laced, we walked side by side through the darkened corridors of the White Fang compound, a part of me still clinging to the hope that maybe Adam could change... but the rest of me, the part growing stronger each day Zani was near, knew that change only came when someone had the courage to demand it.

And this time, that someone would be me.

Chapter Text

{Zani's POV}

"And you're certain this is the best course of action?" Sienna asked, her voice low and measured, though her eyes betrayed the storm brewing behind them. She had already listened to our argument—about Adam, the chaos he sowed, and the price we were all paying for it. The White Fang's increasingly aggressive actions had already drawn suspicion, but Adam? He was the match that lit the pyre. The humans now believed with complete certainty that we were nothing more than terrorists, and Adam had made that belief reality.

Sienna never intended for the White Fang to become what it had. She had always envisioned power with purpose, strength with dignity. Still, she had been willing to shoulder the label of "terrorist"—in name only—if that was the price to make her goals manifest. But it was never supposed to be like this. Adam, with his unchecked violence and unrelenting anger, had become a symbol of everything she wasn’t. Keeping him any longer would only cement that image in the minds of humans and Faunus alike.

But the tides were shifting.

She didn’t need Adam anymore. Not when she had me.

She hadn't spoken that truth aloud, not directly. But I could see it. [Communication Talent] revealed the language of the unspoken—body tension, micro-expressions, posture—all of it laid bare before me. It wasn't quite [Covert Talent]; I couldn’t cold-read her like a book, but it was close enough. I could feel the sincerity behind her guarded words. She wanted change. Deep down, beneath all that fire and resolve, she was exhausted. Exhausted by the burden of leadership and the compromises it demanded. She was searching for something—someone—to carry it with her.

Of course, discarding a valuable pawn, even a dangerous one, wasn’t an easy decision. As a leader, every piece had its place, and losing a strong combatant like Adam would create a power vacuum that couldn't go ignored. That was why she needed to be convinced. That was what we were doing now.

"And you are confident you can fill the gap once we imprison Adam?" she asked, her voice tinged with challenge. Her gaze bore into mine, seeking weakness, hesitation, even a sliver of doubt. She would not move on half-measures.

"I can," I replied smoothly, the words shaped carefully, truthfully. I didn't need to exaggerate or embellish. I meant every syllable. "Where he ruled through fear, I will lead through loyalty. What he sought to destroy, I will repurpose. I will not let your work go to waste, Sienna."

It wasn’t just exile we were proposing. That wouldn’t be enough. Adam would simply take his twisted crusade elsewhere, and his violence would continue unchecked. No—he needed to be contained. Watched. Neutralized. Imprisoning him would be the only way.

Sienna was silent for a long moment. The room was quiet save for the low hum of the air vents and the distant murmur of activity outside her office. Then, with deliberate calm, she pulled open a drawer beneath her desk and extracted a sheet of parchment. She extended it to me without a word.

I took the paper and glanced down. My lips twitched, amusement bubbling under my otherwise calm exterior. The document was official—a prepared warrant for Adam’s arrest. Already signed. Already stamped.

So she had been thinking about this.

The image she projected, of calculated neutrality and impartial leadership, was cracking. Sienna Khan had anticipated this outcome. She just needed someone else to carry the torch.

"The White Fang may not be official military," I said, folding the document neatly and slipping it into my coat, "but within Menagerie, we are the closest thing to law."

"Indeed." she replied, not denying it.

Soon, that wouldn’t just be proximity. It would be reality.

I had already begun planting the seeds of my influence throughout the White Fang. Slowly, methodically, I was building something sustainable. As a Lieutenant, I had access to sensitive information—like membership numbers. 12,809 members. A number smaller than a true army corps, yes, but far larger than I had expected, especially considering the mass defections after the group’s transition from peacekeeping.

Only a fraction of them were stationed here at the Menagerie headquarters—just under a thousand—but they were important. Strategic. Loyal to Sienna for now, yes. But that was changing.

Using my [Company Phone], I had already [Captured] and converted 10% of the Menagerie personnel into [Devotees]. Quietly. No suspicion raised. It was a slow burn, but one that would catch fire soon enough.

Once I [Captured] Sienna herself, the rest would fall into place like dominoes.

I hadn't initially planned to take over the White Fang, or thought about it seriously. It wasn’t about ambition or conquest. I just needed the [Credits]. But the more I learned, the more I realized how disorganized things truly were. With me in control, things would run smoother. Efficiently. The chaos Adam left behind would be wiped clean.

"I will capture Adam by the end of the day." I said at last. There was no bravado in my tone. Just quiet certainty. I was already turning to leave when she raised her hand.

"Wait," she said, and I stopped, glancing back. She rose from her chair, her gaze unreadable. "Before you go, as a precaution, I shall unlock your Aura."

I blinked slowly, hiding my surprise. She didn't offer Aura unlocking freely. This was more than a formality. It was a gesture of trust, my time here bearing fruit.

I held back a smile. This was the moment I had waited for. The very reason I purchased [Soul Talent].

"Very well." I replied, voice steady. Calm. Controlled. But inside, excitement hummed through my veins.

I stepped forward, standing tall before her outstretched hand. She began to chant, her voice low and resonant:

"For it is in the soul where strength lies hidden, In stillness or storm, it waits, bidden. By blood, by heart, by iron will, Let this warrior’s spirit no longer be still. From shadow rise, from silence wake, and by my shoulder, I free thee."

The words wrapped around me like smoke, seeping into every corner of my being. And then—

It hit.

A surge of energy rippled through me, warm and golden. I could feel it coursing under my skin, swelling in my chest. My hands tingled, and when I raised them, a soft golden sheen danced across my fingers.

My Aura. My power. Finally awakened.

I didn’t grin. That would be too obvious. But inside, I was more than ready.

Adam wouldn’t know what hit him.

Aura was a strange thing—an enigma made real. It was the manifestation of the Soul, the tangible whisper of something inherently untouchable. A shimmer of light, a flare of will, it served both as shield and sword. Aura protected the body from harm, wrapped around its bearer like an invisible armor, and gave strength where none should exist.

Flexing my Aura, I could still feel the way it pulsed in sync with my heartbeat, warm and golden, casting a soft radiance around my form. I marveled at it every time it appeared. There was a reverence in the way I watched it bloom across my limbs. The golden hue was not just beautiful—it was proof. A promise of power and purpose. I had grown to cherish the decision to purchase [Soul Talent] more than nearly any other; its passive blessings led me to better understand Aura without even trying.

Through instinct and subtle guidance, I had learned to manipulate it—to shift its protection to vital areas, to focus its defense where needed rather than waste it in a constant shell. I had even started sensing the gentle threads of something deeper within my soul, pulling at me with the promise of a Semblance. But that revelation, like all worthwhile truths, would come in time.

For now, I was exactly where I was needed.

"Lieutenant Adam." I said, my voice cool as shaded steel, slicing through the grunts and barks of a brutal training session.

The man turned, irritation in his crimson eyes before his expression curdled into distaste. "...Lieutenant Zani," he replied slowly, as if the title itself offended his tongue.

I kept the amusement off my face, though it sparked behind my eyes. Without a word, I presented the folded document in my hand, the seal of High Leader Sienna unmistakable.

"In the name of High Leader Sienna, you are hereby under arrest for the following charges: unauthorized use of force, massacre of civilians, violation of internal command protocol, endangerment of fellow White Fang operatives, and deliberate sabotage of diplomatic negotiations."

I took a step forward, each syllable precise. "You will come with me willingly, or you will be forced. I am authorized to use lethal or non-lethal means as necessary. Your cooperation, though unlikely, would make things much simpler."

Adam stared at me, caught between disbelief and fury. It was almost a performance. He blinked slowly, once. Twice.

"What the hell is this? Arrest? Me? After everything I've done for the White Fang?!" He threw his arms out in disbelief, voice rising to a roar. "This must be a joke. A fake. Just because you managed to slither your way into a Lieutenant's cloak doesn't mean you're anything more than a delusional bitch!"

His voice echoed against the steel walls of the training hall. His subordinates paused their drills, eyes wide. The tension grew thick enough to taste.

I shook my head, pity blooming where anger might have. With a flick, I tossed the warrant into the air—it was just a copy, after all.

"I warned you."

And then I was in front of him.

Not moving—there. My Aura flared like a comet, and Adam, for all his arrogance, was not caught entirely off-guard. He blocked my punch with crossed arms, Aura hardening around him with a scarlet glow. But it was a feint.

I pivoted, the shift in momentum snapping through my waist and up into my leg. My roundhouse kick cracked through his side, the golden flare of my Aura clashing with the red shimmer of his.

He flew.

Even through Aura, the hit staggered him, though he twisted midair to land on his feet like a true warrior. He snarled, blood singing in his voice.

"What are you doing!? Attack the traitor!" he barked at the stunned trainees.

But they hesitated. Confused. Uncertain.

"No," I said calmly, loud enough for all to hear. "Everyone, leave this place. You have no Aura, no protection against Adam’s recklessness. Your safety lies elsewhere, not in following him."

They listened.

In a rush of footfalls and exchanged glances, the trainees evacuated. Some didn’t even bother pretending to hesitate.

Adam’s expression twisted. "You poisoned them. Turned them against me."

"The problem with ruling by fear," I replied softly, "is that when freedom opens a door, most are quick to walk through it."

This time, Adam came at me.

Blade drawn, a crimson arc shimmered as he swung it at my side. But I met it—not with steel, but with flesh wrapped in Aura. My gauntleted hand closed around the blade’s edge, gold clashing against scarlet. Sparks danced, and my grip held.

His strength met mine, and we stood in that moment—locked, breathing hard.

Then I moved.

Knee. Elbow.

My knee slammed into the joint of his arm, a sickening crack muffled by his Aura’s resistance. His grip loosened. I wrenched the blade from his hand and drove a kick into his face, sending him tumbling backward.

Without hesitation, I hurled the weapon to the ceiling. It embedded itself in the rafters, quivering like a struck bell.

He looked up. I saw it—the moment he realized I had just taken his greatest advantage away.

Adam’s Semblance was dangerous. Not unlike Yang’s, it allowed him to absorb kinetic energy and redirect it with greater force. Unlike her, however, he couldn't store it for long. Without a weapon, his precision and damage potential were significantly reduced.

He lunged again. This time, a hook aimed at my ribs.

I blocked it easily.

My hand snatched his arm and twisted. Using his momentum, I lifted him clean off the ground and slammed him into the floor like he weighed no more than a child. The ground cracked.

He roared, Aura sputtering, cracking at the edges. I dragged him up again, spun, and threw him straight into the wall.

With a shimmer and a shatter, his Aura broke.

Silence.

Dust swirled.

I approached, tilting my head slightly. "I truly thought you would prove more difficult, Adam. I must reconsider either your prowess—or my own."

He screamed, a last act of desperation, and lunged. But without his Aura, without his sword, he was nothing more than a man—and I was not just a woman.

I caught his fist with ease. The fur on my hand darkened with tension, nails digging into his skin.

No more holding back.

I let go.

My Aura erupted around me, brighter than ever before, as I reached inward, toward the deep place where [Heritage] slumbered. My bones shifted, muscles stretching, skin prickling. My body grew—six feet turned to seven, fur bristling across my frame. Horns curled from my temples like a crown of bone. My wereram form rose, immense and strangely enticing.

The shift came with a roar that split the air.

I didn't need a mirror to know how I looked. There was no doubt.

He struck at me again, desperate. I lowered my head—and charged.

The impact was thunder. My horns cracked against his mask, splintering it, drawing a river of red across his face. Blood marked him. That was all I needed.

The condition for [Bad Wolf Rising] was simple: injure them—mark them—and they become targets for [Capture]. I did not intend to keep Adam, but [Credits] were [Credits].

Adam collapsed, groaning in a pool of failure. He would live, for now.

I exhaled slowly, the glow of my Aura dimming as the transformation held steady. My body still towered over the wreckage of our fight, but I no longer felt rage. Only necessity.

He was finished.

Now, it was time to lock him up.

With Adam's arrest and subsequent imprisonment in the White Fang's underground cells—secured tightly in Aura-dampening cuffs, naturally—the organization was thrown into a period of necessary reformation. Chaos doesn’t breed loyalty, after all, only desperation. And while desperation may fuel rebellion, it doesn’t build structure. Not one that lasts. So we began pulling the threads of his influence apart.

Adam's unorthodox training methods? Dismantled. His unauthorized missions? Revoked and buried. The endless list of complaints, whispers, and fears that his name inspired? Acknowledged and addressed with careful precision. Most importantly, we made his arrest public—loud and messy. We needed to. We threw him under the proverbial bus with such force that the wheels still squeal from the impact. It had to be done.

Of course, by doing so, we risked undermining Sienna Khan’s authority. Publicly denouncing the former poster boy of the movement painted her in a poor light—showed she had either turned a blind eye or lost control. Neither image was particularly appealing. But the truth, or something very close to it, had to take precedence. Adam was unhinged, a madman drunk on his own sense of divinity. We needed to hammer that into the world’s perception of him so thoroughly that even whispering his name would draw scorn rather than awe.

It wasn’t just about him—it was about salvaging what remained of the White Fang’s tattered reputation. While it hadn't shifted much in the grand scheme, the groundwork was being laid. Now, the government—any government—could no longer look at us and, in good faith, label us terrorists. Not if we tread carefully. Not if we walk the knife's edge between reform and retribution. Every step from here on out had to be calculated, deliberate.

I told Sienna I would handle the mess Adam left behind. And I did. Bought [Administrative Talent], [Money Talent], and [Educational Talent] with everything I had. Literally. Left me with [1 Credit] to my name, but if the results say anything, it was worth every unit. Two weeks. That’s all it had been, and yet the White Fang had already begun to shift, to breathe new life into itself. And I won't be modest about it—most of that was my doing.

The restructuring, the reorientation of our goals, the educational programs I had to teach practically myself, the carefully curated propaganda we pushed... it was the foundation. A damn strong one. Sure, we hit a few snags—what endeavor doesn't?—but a few whispered threats here, a couple of promising words there, and suddenly even our most stubborn members found themselves aligned with the new direction.

New recruits began to pour in. Young, angry, idealistic, and ripe for molding. Perfect.

Utilizing my status as Sienna’s only Lieutenant, I pushed to change the masks we wore—relics of intimidation and faceless rage—into tattoos. Something more permanent. Something intimate. Masks create monsters; tattoos ground people. They humanize. It took effort, persuasion, subtle pushes. But I won. I always do, eventually.

Of course, I was the only tattoo artist in the entirety of Menagerie. Convenient. The process was slow, yes, but that played into my hand. Each tattoo was a chance to [Capture] someone. To make them a [Devotee]. They’d never know. They’d simply wake one day feeling just a little more loyal, a little more mine. Bit by bit, the White Fang would no longer belong to an ideal—it would belong to me.

"Here are today's documents."

Her voice was always a balm and a blade at once. Blake. Sweet, sultry, tense Blake. After the fall of Adam, she’d taken up the unofficial title of my secretary. Something about order, proximity, and perhaps—though she’d never say it aloud—a need for someone she could rely on.

I took the folder from her hands, our fingers brushing, the heat between us as palpable as ever. I looked up, letting my gaze trail—shamelessly—down her body. Her subtle grin said she noticed. Good. That’s the point.

"Thank you, Blake." I said, voice as smooth as the silver tongue I was blessed with. Her eyes flicked down, just for a second, and I caught it. That spark. That delicious tension strung taut between us. This wasn’t just some little workplace flirtation. It was a fucking war.

Before Adam, we were... friends, I suppose. But the shift was immediate once he was gone. I started flirting, deliberately, unashamedly. She didn’t retreat. She resisted, at first. Carefully. But that resistance began to crumble, one shy glance, one blush, one too-long pause at a time.

Now, it was a game. A delicious, excruciatingly slow game of cat and mouse. And I was savoring every moment.

She sat on the edge of my desk. Her ass—undeniably delectable—pressed against the polished wood, creating a subtle curve that drew my eyes like gravity.

"I've been thinking..." she began, fingers playing with the edge of her scroll, her lower lip caught between her teeth. My hum was a purr, slow and teasing. Her scent was intoxicating, her presence all-consuming.

"Everyone’s been switching to tattoos," she continued, eyes dancing across my features. "And I just realized... I haven’t."

A lie by omission. She knew damn well she hadn’t. Because I hadn’t offered. Because I had waited. Because I wasn’t going to [Capture] her. Not like the others. Not unless something between us became real. Not unless she chose me—without manipulation, without coercion.

She played with her words. I let her. Watched her closely. Her tongue flicked across her lips. Her eyes sparkled with challenge and desire.

"So," she said, voice dropping, dripping with intent. "If you have time... maybe we could have a private session? Just the two of us. I want the White Fang tattoo... but also something more... personal."

That final word was a purr. A dare. Her gaze locked into mine, molten and molten and molten.

I leaned forward. The air between us snapped like the tension of a drawn bow.

"For you, Sweetie?" I murmured, letting the words coat the air like honey. "I'll always make time. Come, follow me to my bedroom. I’ll tattoo you there."

She stood, slow and deliberate, eyes never leaving mine. She was aroused, she was curious, and she was playing the game just as much as I was. But unlike most games, this one was destined for surrender. The only question was: who would surrender first?

We walked in silence. Not because there was nothing to say, but because everything was already being said in glances, in posture, in proximity. The soft sway of her hips ahead of me. The way she tilted her head just slightly to listen for my breath. This wasn’t about ink anymore. This was about crossing a line, and we were both damn close to stepping over it.

Once inside, the atmosphere thickened. My room was dim, quiet. Tools prepared. Bed clean. I gestured for her to sit, and she did—on the edge of the mattress, legs crossed, shirt already sliding down her shoulder.

"Where?" I asked, voice like velvet.

She smirked. "Lower back."

Of course it was. A claim. A mark. A challenge.

I knelt behind her, the scent of her hair filling my senses. My fingers traced her skin—part ritual, part tease. Her breath caught. Mine deepened. The heat was unbearable, delectable.

I let the ink sink into her flesh slowly, carefully. Each touch was electric. Each pause between strokes was deliberate.

We didn’t speak. We didn’t need to. Her body shifted closer. My hands lingered longer.

And as I signed the final mark, an hour later, she turned—face flushed, lips parted.

"It’s beautiful." she whispered as she looked at the mirror.

"You are." I replied, and there was no falsehood there. I couldn’t lie, even if I wanted to. She was stunning, inside and out. She was temptation made flesh.

I leaned closer. Our breaths mingled. Her fingers grazed my thigh. And just as her lips nearly brushed mine—

She pulled back. Teasing. Smirking.

"Another time." she said.

I let her go. For now.

The game wasn’t over.

But it was close.

And I would win.

Eventually. Especially with my mark now on her body, claiming her as mine.

Chapter Text

{Sienna's POV} 

Zani was a godsend.

I honestly can't believe I had ever been suspicious of her. It feels like a cruel joke played by my past self. The thought of what could have happened—what I could've thrown away—if I had acted on those old doubts... it makes me shudder. I would’ve driven away one of the best things that ever happened to me. No, not just the best thing to happen to me, but to the entire White Fang. Taking a chance on her—entrusting her with my confidence—was easily one of the greatest decisions I've made. And I say that with full conviction.

After we captured Adam, things moved fast. I remember the moment Zani stepped forward, her eyes cold and calculating, her tone precise. There was no hesitation. The woman immediately got to work, no complaints, no confusion. She knew what needed to be done. Some of the changes she made were things I’d mulled over in passing, too afraid to implement myself; others were so brilliant and unconventional that I felt almost ashamed I’d never even considered them. But shame didn’t last long. Results came fast. In just two weeks, Zani had accomplished what would've taken me months—maybe longer. Her impact was undeniable. People noticed.

Slowly but surely, Zani was becoming the new face of the White Fang, and I didn’t resent that. Not one bit. I was proud. Genuinely. Zani was strong—absurdly so, even before I awakened her aura. Her strength wasn't just physical, though that alone was enough to be intimidating. She was also precise and methodical in her planning, efficient to the point of obsession. Under her, our numbers grew, our reach expanded, and for once, I could sleep without worrying the organization would fall apart while I rested.

And then there was her charisma.

Gods above and below, she could talk. Not just with flair or force—but with honesty. There was a strange cadence to the way she spoke, something that made people believe her, even when she said the most outlandish things. Her words had a way of sinking into your skin and taking root, like they simply had to be true. And I know it wasn't her semblance—at least not the kind people recognize. She was just... convincing. Graceful, deliberate, charming in a way that snuck up on you. She was undeniably physically attractive—sculpted, striking—but it was the way she carried herself, the precision of her speech, that truly ensnared those around her.

Naturally, her meteoric rise didn’t go unnoticed. There were those who grumbled in the background, those whose egos couldn’t handle her authority. They whispered about favoritism, about how quickly she’d ascended. But Zani never needed to defend herself. She didn’t argue with them—she simply outshone them. Every protest was drowned out by her results. She didn’t need to win their favor; she simply made their dissent irrelevant.

Truly, Zani was the kind of person everyone should aspire to be.

Of course... no one is perfect.

If Zani had one vice, it was her insatiable lust.

Every day, it seemed a new woman was seen leaving her quarters, disheveled and flushed, legs barely holding. It was practically a routine now—another day, another conquest. Yet, I didn’t reprimand her. I couldn’t. Who was I to judge how she handled her stress? Managing the White Fang was exhausting—dangerous, even. And somehow, her... activities actually kept morale high. Unorthodox, sure. But effective.

In fact, many of the women seemed to treat a night with Zani as some kind of blessing. They’d giggle in the halls, their voices low and eager, whispering fantasies and reliving memories. Some would even boast about it. Others merely smiled in quiet satisfaction. It was... strange. But harmless. Or at least that’s what I told myself.

What bothered me wasn’t her indulgence—it was the way those conversations stuck in my head. The things they said. The way they spoke about her. The way they moaned her name when they thought I wasn’t listening. It haunted me in the most frustrating ways.

And then there was the tension between us. Gods, the tension.

Zani knew. She had to know. The way her eyes would linger, the way her lips would curl into that sly, knowing smirk whenever I tried to maintain professionalism. She was teasing me—always teasing. Not outright, never disrespectful—but precise. Intentional. Her words skirted truth and provocation so deftly that I could never call her out without sounding delusional. She never lied. She simply said things that made my thoughts spiral.

“Here are all the documents, organized to your preferences, High Leader Sienna.”

That was what she said this morning, voice velvet-smooth, tone respectful. But the way she leaned over the desk, placing the stack of neatly organized folders right in front of me—just close enough for her breasts to nearly brush the edge of the wood—that was no accident. I swear she even took a fraction of a second too long to withdraw, her golden eyes watching me the entire time.

And she had unbuttoned more of her shirt than was necessary. It had been warmer lately, true, but surely she didn’t need to expose that much skin to cool down. She began fanning herself then, sighing softly—almost theatrically—as the fabric shifted with her movements, revealing even more.

I had to look away. I had to. I was the High Leader of the White Fang, and I needed to maintain discipline. But damn her, she made it difficult. Every gesture felt like a challenge, a subtle dare.

“Thank you, Zani.” I said, trying to keep my tone neutral.

She tilted her head slightly, a faint smile playing at her lips. “Of course, my dear High Leader. You know I live to serve.”

My stomach fluttered at that. She lives to serve? What the hell was that supposed to mean?

It wasn’t just the heat making me sweat. I could feel the tightness in my throat, the ache that had become all too familiar lately. Zani had done so much to ease the burdens of leadership, but she’d awakened others in the process—frustrations, hungers, longings.

I was tired. I was stressed. I was sexually frustrated. And the woman responsible for all of that relief and all of that frustration was standing before me, smirking like she knew.

Because she did.

Everyone respected Zani. Everyone admired her. She had the devotion of the White Fang, and more than a few of its women wrapped around her finger—figuratively and literally. So, what would they say if I claimed her for myself? If I—Sienna, the High Leader—married her? Surely they wouldn’t object. In fact, I suspected they’d cheer. Our union would solidify her loyalty, ensure our continued strength, and boost morale even further. A symbol of unity. A demonstration of power.

But that wasn’t why I wanted her.

I wanted her because every night I lay awake thinking about her. About her voice. Her hands. Her mouth. I wanted her because every conversation left me breathless, because every touch of her fingers as she handed me a file made my skin burn. I wanted her because every time she whispered "High Leader" in that sinfully smooth voice, I imagined her saying it in a different context—one far less formal, far more intimate.

And I wanted to own her, in a way. Not just in title, but in spirit. I wanted her to belong to me. Just me. I didn’t want to share her with the rest of the organization. I didn’t want to hear another damn moan or giggle from someone bragging about their night with my Lieutenant.

But could I even have her like that? Would she let herself be tamed? Or would she forever remain just out of reach, always teasing, always watching, always knowing?

I glanced back at her. She had turned slightly, pretending to look at the shelves behind me, but I could feel her gaze, like a warm pressure against my back. She wasn’t just efficient. She wasn’t just powerful. She was dangerous. A temptation so perfectly crafted it almost felt like it wasn’t real.

But she was real. Real, and standing just a few feet away from me.

And I had decisions to make.

{Zani's POV}

Staring down the Alpha Deathstalker looming in front of me, I allowed my gauntlet to shift with a hiss into its shield form. The weight settled comfortably on my arm, familiar, like an old friend that knew how I fought better than anyone else. I was strong—stronger than most—but while my fists could shatter stone, my shield? It turned momentum into massacre.

The Alpha roared, a thunderous screech that rattled bone and steel, and then it charged. The crowd watching above the arena flinched. I didn’t. I stood my ground, planting my feet and raising my shield with measured calm. The Deathstalker’s massive claw swung down with the force of a landslide, but I parried the strike, angling my shield to redirect its blow and give myself the window I needed.

With a spin, I brought the edge of the shield down on the creature’s leg. It bent—didn’t break—but that was fine. Pain would do. I grabbed the trembling limb, twisted it violently, and yanked myself free from beneath the beast's towering bulk, sliding out like a knife drawn from flesh.

The Deathstalker howled, the sound guttural and raw, even as I lifted the same leg I had struck and slammed it against the arena floor. The crack wasn’t bone breaking, but it was enough to make the thing falter.

It flailed in fury, lashing out with its stinger. I didn’t move to dodge. Instead, I waited, baited it, and at the last possible moment, twisted my stance, guiding the stinger into slicing its own foot. The shriek that followed was deafening. Good. Let them all hear it. Let the White Fang grunts watching understand exactly what kind of power they’d need to tame monsters.

I went for another leg. Same process. Quick. Brutal. Efficient.

But the Deathstalker learned. It rolled, throwing its massive weight sideways in a desperate attempt to crush or dislodge me. A mistake.

With its underbelly exposed—flesh unguarded by armor—I launched myself upward, letting gravity and purpose combine. I drove my shield down, piercing where a heart would be, if these damned things had one. It screamed again, then stilled. Its form began to shimmer, to dissipate into the black mist of defeated Grimm.

I jumped off the corpse as it vanished beneath me. All eyes were on me now.

"Of course," I said, voice steady, loud enough to carry across the stadium. "I don’t expect any of you to follow every step I just demonstrated. But you understand the principle. A Deathstalker’s weakness is its legs and underbelly. Focus there. The rest of it will follow."

The White Fang recruits looked down at the remains, then back at me. Some wide-eyed. Some with a dawning look of understanding. Most of them still didn’t have their Auras unlocked yet. But the Grimm didn’t care. The threat wasn’t going to wait for them to catch up.

"When you’ve all improved," I continued, pacing slowly across the sands, "we’ll begin capturing Grimm for live demonstrations. We need practice. Controlled experience. Better than dying out there unprepared."

Then, without fanfare, I gave the order. "Now, begin your drills."

With the command given, I turned and exited the stadium, leaving them behind to follow through.

I hadn’t even made it past the archway when I heard her voice.

"That was a pretty good demonstration, Zani."

Blake.

I glanced over my shoulder. Her smoldering eyes were on mine, and I couldn’t help the smirk that curved across my lips.

"You were watching, Sweetie," I murmured, slipping an arm around her shoulders as she approached. I let my head dip just slightly, inhaling her scent—books and lilies and danger. "So I had to make it good."

I whispered it close to her ear, watching with undisguised amusement as her breath caught. A soft blush bloomed across her cheeks. We were still playing our game, our little dance of cat and mouse, but the end was near. Blake was getting more responsive to me by the day, by the hour.

She was mine. She just didn’t know she’d already given herself away.

Or maybe she did. That tattoo she flaunted told me everything.

The official White Fang mark—just a pair of stylized fangs—sat proud on her shoulder, same as most of the senior members. But the other one, the one I had made specifically for her, was inked just above her ass. That one? That was personal.

And Blake had changed her wardrobe just to show them both off. A detached sleeve crop top that left her shoulders and back exposed. Subtle defiance and delicious invitation wrapped into one.

I let my fingers ghost near the lower tattoo now, brushing just above the curve of her waistband. She shivered.

"So," I purred, "what did you come here for? Surely not just to see me, right, Sweetie?"

Her golden eyes didn’t flinch. Not anymore.

"As a matter of fact," she said slowly, deliberately, "I did."

At her open admittance, I arched a brow, intrigued. This was new. Bold.

Pulling her in closer, I let my nose trail the line of her jaw, grazing just above the sensitive skin of her neck. I heard the breath she tried to hold.

"Well, what for?" I asked softly, letting my words curl like smoke, knowing she could feel my lips move against her skin.

Blake shuddered.

"I... I wanted to ask you out. On a date. Zani."

I paused. Not out of surprise, but to appreciate the gravity of what she’d just said. There was something raw in her tone, something that made even my smirk falter for half a second before returning full force.

"A date?" I echoed, pulling back just enough to look her in the eyes. "Then I assume you’ve already made plans."

She didn’t speak. She didn’t need to. We both already knew.

The tension between us had never been subtle. It curled beneath every glance, every word, every moment too long spent standing just a little too close. And now, finally, one of us had snapped the thread.

It was her. And it was glorious.

Blake inhaled slowly, then said, "Yes. Tonight. For dinner. I want to take you out to Lunar Feast. Dress classy."

At her command, I grinned.

"Sweetie," I said, brushing a kiss against her cheek, lingering just long enough for her to feel it, "I’m always classy."

She looked stunned for half a heartbeat. I didn’t wait for her to recover.

I turned and left.

She’d made her move. Now it was my turn. For Blake, I would dress my best.

{Blake's POV} 

Tonight was the night. After so many stolen glances, fleeting touches, and heavy silences that begged to be broken, I had finally mustered enough courage to ask Zani on a proper date. And by 'courage,' I meant the collective push from the women Zani had already taken to bed—yes, her past one-night stands were my cheerleaders. Ironically, it wasn’t jealousy they showed when they noticed the tension between Zani and me, but encouragement. Full-throated, honest encouragement. They practically shoved me into her arms, with one very specific condition: that I wouldn’t keep Zani all to myself. Not that I could, even if I wanted to.

Zani wasn’t just strong—she was something else. Resilient to an almost supernatural degree. Her stamina was the stuff of whispered stories and sore thighs, and while I wasn’t exactly ordinary myself, I knew damn well that my Aura wouldn’t save me if I tried to go toe-to-toe with her alone in bed. The women she’d been with had made that very clear. Some of them joked that they walked funny for days after. Others? They just smiled wistfully and sighed like they were remembering the best mistake of their life.

So no, I wasn't under any illusions. I wasn’t trying to chain her down or make her mine and mine alone. That was never the plan. Zani had too much heart for that, too much fire, too much desire. She loved fiercely and fully, and she wasn’t the type to limit herself to one outlet. I knew about the electric tension between her and High Leader Sienna too. Hell, anyone with eyes could see it. The way they bantered? It was foreplay disguised as politics. Honestly, it felt inevitable. It was only a matter of time before Sienna ended up tangled in Zani's sheets, same as the rest of us.

But Sienna? She'd have to learn to share. Zani wouldn’t stop with just two of us, and I was okay with that. More than okay, actually. I respected it. There was something honest about Zani's hunger, her want, her inability to hide what she desired. Like she was made for desire itself.

"You look gorgeous, Blake." one of Zani's past flings said as she finished pinning the last piece of my hair into place. Her voice was warm, and there was no bitterness in it, only something like fondness.

I gave her a sheepish grin, catching my reflection in the mirror. I didn’t usually wear dresses—wasn’t really my style—but damn if this one didn’t fit me just right. It hugged where it should, flowed where it needed to. Elegant, but not too much.

"Just... please take it off before Zani tears it off. I spent good money on that."

That made me blush, heat crawling up my neck. Of course they all assumed we wouldn’t make it through the evening without ending up naked and entangled. And honestly? They weren’t wrong. I wasn’t opposed. I was looking forward to it. Fuck, I was already soaked at the thought.

"Girls! We've got Zani incoming, and she's hot as fuck!" someone yelled from down the hallway, crashing into the room like a stormfront.

Instant chaos. One woman darted in to fix the last bits of my makeup, while another started stuffing my bag with everything I might need—mostly condoms. A lot of condoms. It was more an offering than preparation.

Then, silence. A knock on the door.

"Sweetie~, I hope you're ready~."

My heart skipped. My legs nearly buckled.

That voice—smooth, teasing, decadent. There was something in Zani's tone that made every word sound like it was dipped in desire and coated in intent. Something about the way she lingered on her syllables, wrapping them around you like silk, like chains.

The other women didn’t hesitate. They started pushing me toward the door with soft murmurs and half-whispered words of encouragement.

"Alright, alright!" I whispered back, trying to keep my balance as I checked myself one last time. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. I could do this. I wanted this.

I opened the door.

And forgot how to breathe.

Zani stood there, framed by the light behind her, in a dress that could make angels weep. She was radiant. It was the first time I'd ever seen her in something traditionally feminine. She usually wore tailored suits that carved her figure like a sculptor had a personal vendetta against modesty. But this? This was something else entirely. It clung to her curves, dipped dangerously at the chest, and flowed like shadowed water around her legs.

"Well, don’t you look quite ravishing this evening, Sweetie~." she purred, eyes dragging over me with heat that could scorch.

And then, softly, like she was making a promise: "I can’t wait for the night to end, so I can have a taste of just how delectable you are~."

Delectable. A word that I'd never thought would be used on me, and yet somehow it described me perfectly in her voice.

The way she looked at me made my knees threaten to collapse. I wanted to skip the entire date and let her devour me right there, but I’d fought so hard to get here. I wouldn’t waste it. I stood on my toes, leaned in, and kissed her.

Or at least, that was the plan.

I had meant for it to be sweet, quick, maybe a little flirty.

Zani had other ideas.

The moment our lips touched, she took control. Her hand slid around my waist, pulling me in tight, and before I could even react, her tongue was in my mouth, claiming me. It was hungry, desperate, and deep. I moaned into her, unable to hold it back, and my hands clung to her shoulders just to keep upright.

By the time she pulled away, I was breathless, panting, and shamefully close to cumming just from her kiss.

She grinned, slow and wicked. "A little prelude for what's to come, Sweetie~."

I shivered. My whole body vibrated with need, my nerves singing with anticipation. If she touched me again, I wasn't sure I could stop myself from begging.

Zani kept an arm around me, steadying me. "Shall we, Sweetie~?"

I nodded, dazed, and let myself be pulled into her orbit. There was no use pretending I had any power in this dynamic. Zani was a storm and I was a leaf. A willing leaf.

She took my hand as we left, her fingers warm and secure around mine. The others gave us knowing smirks and subtle waves, some already making bets about how long I'd last tonight.

As we walked down the corridor, I glanced at Zani from the corner of my eye. She was radiant under the hallway lights, each step she took full of power and grace. There was nothing forced or artificial about her. She didn’t hide what she wanted. She didn’t play coy. If she called me beautiful, I believed it, not because she flattered me, but because Zani *didn't *lie. There was always a strange weight to her compliments, a kind of deep honesty that was hard to explain.

It wasn’t until much later—after the food, the flirtations, the stolen kisses beneath a quiet sky—that I fully realized how fucked I was.

Not in a bad way.

But in the I-was-going-to-be-sore-for-days-and-ruined-for-anyone-else kind of way.

And I couldn’t wait.

Chapter Text

{Zani's POV}

Lunar Feast was a recent addition to Kuo Kana, and frankly, it only existed because I pushed hard for it. No one really wanted to admit it aloud, but let’s not kid ourselves—Kuo Kana wasn’t as modern as it liked to pretend it was. Sure, they mirrored some outdated Japanese infrastructure, but that was about the extent of it. Once I had stabilized the White Fang—firmly, undeniably—I made it my mission to start improving the city. It was time to drag Kuo Kana forward, whether it liked it or not.

Thanks to [Administrative Talent] and [Money Talent], the White Fang saw a steady climb in wealth and influence, and so did I. With my own coffers swelling, I began funding missions personally. Missions with a dual purpose: to upgrade the city's infrastructure and to polish the image of the White Fang. After all, a militant group covered in dust and grit doesn’t inspire much hope. But a militant group that revitalizes the largest faunus city in Menagerie? Now that’s a force people want to follow.

Lunar Feast was one such project, brought to life faster than most thanks to a few Aura-abled White Fang members. I was honestly thrilled when it was completed. High-end, elegant, just the right mix of extravagance and subtle faunus culture—it quickly became the place for dates. And with [Education Talent], I took it upon myself to train the chefs personally, using [Faerie Feast] to gift them palettes that could almost rival mine. Almost. They weren’t quite at my level, but they were better than most professionals.

Naturally, since I was the one who had the place built from the ground up, I owned it. But I wasn’t foolish enough to try managing it myself. Even with [Administrative Talent], I wasn’t about to stretch myself thin across multiple business fronts. That’s where my [Devotees] came in—loyal, dedicated, and utterly incapable of betraying me. Delegation became my specialty. They ran the day-to-day while I reaped the passive income, which I reinvested into more infrastructure, more facilities, more reach for the White Fang.

Tonight, though, was different. This wasn’t about business. This was about Blake.

Entering Lunar Feast with her wrapped delicately in my arms, the air practically shifted. The staff’s reaction was immediate.

“Miss Zani! Welcome! We didn’t expect you tonight, so please forgive us for not greeting you properly.” a waitress exclaimed, trying to maintain professionalism while clearly flustered.

Blake blinked in confusion, her gaze shifting between me and the flustered waitress.

“No need to apologize, dear,” I replied smoothly, a warm smile on my lips. “I didn’t announce our arrival because my darling Blake planned this date herself.”

“Miss Blake?” The waitress echoed, her brow furrowing. She turned to consult the hostess, who approached a moment later, more composed.

“Good evening, Miss Zani, Miss Blake. It says here Miss Blake reserved a table for two tonight?” the hostess asked, her tone polite but tinged with curiosity.

“I did,” Blake confirmed, her voice laced with a touch of unease. “Is there an issue?”

“Not at all, Miss,” the hostess assured with a slight smile. “But if you’d like, I can upgrade your reservation to a private booth?”

Blake blinked, clearly surprised. After a glance in my direction, she nodded. “Sure. That’d be nice.”

“Right this way then.”

We followed the hostess, Blake tugging me slightly closer. Her voice dropped to a whisper as we walked.

“This is strange. I didn’t know Lunar Feast was having any kind of special event. I mean, I can afford nice things, but private booths are usually for VIPs only.”

I leaned in, brushing her ear with my lips as I whispered, “Didn’t you know, Sweetie~? I own this place~.”

She stopped mid-step, eyes wide. Then came the inevitable pout. A soft, utterly irresistible expression.

“You should’ve told me,” she muttered. “If I knew, I would’ve picked somewhere else.”

“And miss the look on your face when you found out?” I teased, trailing kisses along her neck, featherlight and slow. “No, Sweetie~. Besides, this is your date. I’m not taking that away from you. The only thing I did was upgrade our table. Everything else is all you.”

Blake tried to keep up her pout, but her resolve crumbled as I kissed the shell of her ear. Eventually, she giggled, nudging me with her hip.

“Here we are, Misses. Please enjoy your evening at Lunar Feast.” the hostess said as she gestured toward the private booth.

We slid into our seats without hesitation, the view before us nothing short of breathtaking. The booths were positioned at the restaurant’s most scenic points, with large windows showcasing Menagerie’s glittering beauty. Exotic plants framed the corners, their bioluminescence casting a soft glow. A perfect blend of natural wonder and high-end design.

“This place is beautiful.” Blake murmured, awe in her eyes.

I preened. “Thank you, Sweetie~. I worked with both faunus and human contractors to make sure it would be the best of the best.”

A waiter arrived with menus, bowing respectfully before placing them in our hands.

“Please take your time. Let us know if you have any questions.”

Blake gave me a nod and dove into the menu, brows furrowing in delightful concentration. I watched her, amused, resting my chin in my hand. Once we made our choices, we passed the order to the waiter and returned to casual conversation.

It was easy, natural. We spoke about our goals, our hopes. The kind of talk that drifted comfortably between playful and sincere. I couldn’t help myself—I initiated a game of footsies, my [Sticky Fingers] guiding my teasing touches with subtle intent. It didn’t take long for Blake to start fidgeting, her cheeks pink and her gaze flitting away every few seconds.

By the time the food arrived, she looked like she was barely holding herself together.

As we ate, the conversation took a more serious turn. Blake set down her chopsticks, her tone thoughtful.

“You know... I was thinking about joining a Huntsman Academy. Before you came into the picture.”

My full attention snapped to her.

“I was getting disillusioned with the White Fang,” she continued softly. “I thought maybe being a Huntress was the better path. Not the most direct route to help our people, but... it felt right. Like something I could actually do.”

I reached across the table, placing my hand gently over hers.

“But then you arrived,” she went on, her voice quieter now. “And everything started to change. The White Fang changed. You changed it. You made it something I could believe in again. Still... that thought never really went away.”

I smiled, brushing her knuckles with my thumb. “The thought’s still lingering, hmm?”

She nodded, biting her lip.

“Then I think you should pursue it.” I said simply.

Blake looked shocked. “But... what about you? About us? I finally pushed myself to take this leap with you. I don’t want to risk everything by putting distance between us.”

I kissed the back of her hand, eyes never leaving hers. “And who said I’d let you get so far away, Sweetie~?”

Her brows furrowed in confusion.

“The White Fang in Menagerie is doing well,” I explained, voice smooth, calm. “But we still have branches that need love. I’ve been thinking about heading to a different regional post, managing things there. And if you decide on an Academy, I’ll simply choose a nearby post to oversee. That way, we stay together.”

Her reaction was immediate and raw. In the blink of an eye, her lips were on mine, kissing me with all the hunger and tenderness she could muster. I didn’t hesitate. I pulled her into my lap, deepening the kiss, my hands running along the smooth expanse of her back. Her body responded to mine like fire to air—hungry, needy, desperate to burn.

We kissed like no one else existed. Like the world had narrowed to just her and me.

That is, until a very pointed cough shattered our little world.

We pulled apart slowly, breathless and flushed.

And there she was.

A perfect mirror of Blake, only older and more composed—her mother. Arms crossed. A single brow arched. Her expression? Amused, maybe even a little smug.

“Well,” she said with a smirk. “Don’t let me interrupt your very intimate dinner.”

I smiled, leaning back while keeping Blake close in my lap. “Why, Miss Belladonna. I had no idea you were coming. But you’re always welcome~.”

Blake groaned, hiding her face in my neck. Her mother just laughed.

This night just got a lot more interesting.

{Khali's POV}

"Another night, wasted." I muttered to myself with a long sigh, downing yet another shot of expensive, dry wine. My lips curled slightly in thought, but I didn’t stop. The bitterness suited the night. The dull clink of the bottle against the counter echoed in the near-empty floor, and I leaned back in my seat, watching the lights dim around me.

I’ve worked so damn hard, you know? Even though Ghira was a Chieftain, we weren’t exactly swimming in wealth. Not like some thought. We earned a bit more than most of our fellow faunus, sure, but that extra income? It mostly came from donations — from the old guard of the White Fang who still remembered what we fought for before it all turned bloody and fanatical. Before Adam twisted it. When Ghira stepped down and the new White Fang swept in with that fiery, destructive ideology, everything shifted. Our relevance waned.

We weren’t broke, not by a long shot, but we had to start watching our expenses more closely. I had to start watching. And it certainly didn’t help that Ghira had taken to spoiling his younger harem members like some lovesick cub. It was ridiculous, but I tried to rationalize it. Ever since Blake left, he’d been different. Ghira claimed he was reliving his youth, trying to find something lost in the ruins of his legacy, but that didn’t excuse the irresponsibility — or the womanizing.

I let it go at first. I figured he was grieving in his own way. Our daughter was gone, and the movement he gave so much to had become something monstrous. Maybe he just needed time to mourn it all. I thought he’d come around. I believed he’d find his balance again. But time passed, and he didn’t. He just… drifted farther away.

It hurt. It still hurts. I didn’t care that he had a harem — truth be told, I was happy for him, in a way. Hell, I even enjoyed the company myself now and then. But over the years, Ghira’s warmth toward me cooled. His eyes stopped lighting up when I entered a room. His voice lost that familiar fondness. Every time I reached for him, I felt the gap between us widen just a bit more. I tried to bridge it — dinners, dates, even reigniting some of our old passions — but it was like he was already living in another world.

Tonight was another attempt. Another failed attempt. He blew me off again, though this time he had an excuse: one of his harem girls was giving birth. A big event, sure. I wasn’t angry — not truly — but I was still left alone. Again.

"Maybe it's time for a divorce?" The thought escaped in a whisper, barely audible even to myself, but it lingered. It wasn’t serious — just one of those intrusive musings that slink in when the wine starts tasting like regret. Still, it had been showing up more and more lately.

I did still love him. But the Ghira I loved felt so far away. Like a memory that wouldn’t come into focus no matter how hard I tried to hold onto it. I tried to learn who he had become, this version of him obsessed with youth and indulgence, but he never let me in. And so, here I was, drinking alone, left behind.

I sighed again and took another slow sip of my wine, letting the burn sit on my tongue.

If there was one thing going right lately, it was the White Fang. Somehow, against all odds, they were clawing their way back from the edge. After Adam Taurus was imprisoned and the organization threw his name under the bus in a rare moment of accountability, things started to shift. Their old, aggressive ways were tempered. The new focus was on building — on protecting faunus communities, reinforcing infrastructure, and actually helping people again.

It almost reminded me of what we used to stand for.

One of their more notable efforts was the Lunar Feast — a celebration of faunus strength, unity, and culture. The project had been spearheaded by the new face of the White Fang: Zani Waves. A name that had been popping up more and more lately, almost always with glowing praise.

Replacing someone like Adam should’ve been an impossible task. But Zani? She didn’t just fill the void — she redefined it. She wasn’t loud, nor did she need to be. Her work spoke for her. Records, interviews, and public sentiment all pointed to her being the driving force behind the Fang’s recent improvements. If the statistics were to be believed, half the newly built infrastructure in the past two months was thanks to her careful planning.

And the kicker? She was my daughter’s crush.

I kept in touch with Blake, even if Ghira had practically disowned her. That was something I could never do. She was my little girl. My starlight. And before Adam had been dethroned, she’d already been talking about Zani — her admiration was barely contained even then. It didn’t take a genius to figure out she had feelings for the woman.

I had my concerns, of course. Every mother would. I didn’t want her to get hurt again. But Zani? She seemed like a definite improvement over Adam. If everything I’d heard was true, then maybe — just maybe — Blake had found someone worthy of her.

"This place is beautiful." My ears twitched at the sound, the voice familiar enough to cut through my haze.

I glanced around, narrowing my eyes until I spotted them. Across the lounge, tucked in one of the more private booths — though not so private tonight — sat Blake. Her profile was unmistakable. And across from her sat Zani, composed and striking in that way I’d only seen in pictures.

Each booth had a curtain that could be drawn, but theirs was open. Unintentionally or not, it left them exposed to anyone watching. I shouldn’t have looked. I really shouldn’t have listened. But I was drunk, heartbroken, and frankly too tired to wrestle with my conscience tonight.

One of the perks — or curses — of being a cat faunus is our heightened hearing. It made eavesdropping dangerously easy, especially when emotions were already running high. I told myself I was just curious — that I just wanted to confirm Blake was safe, that her affection wasn’t misplaced.

What I found was far more than that. They were in love. It was obvious in their words, their laughter, the way Zani looked at her. She wasn’t just tolerating Blake’s affections. She was reciprocating, matching her in intensity and sincerity.

Then their conversation shifted — turned more serious. That should’ve been my cue to stop. But instead, I leaned in further. Zani spoke about altering her role to remain close to Blake. Reshaping her career for her. That kind of devotion was rare. Romantic, sure, but also… telling.

When the kissing started, I really should’ve looked away. Should’ve respected their privacy. Instead, my feet moved on their own, wine and emotion guiding me like a puppet. Before I knew it, I was standing in front of their booth.

"Ahem." A cough escaped me, announcing my presence like thunder in a quiet room.

"Mom!? What are you doing here!?" Blake practically jumped, her face flushed with pure mortification.

Zani, in contrast, remained calm. Amused, even. Her smirk curled like a knowing cat’s, and her eyes — red like crimson blood, almost glowing in the dim light — raked over me slowly. Not with cruelty. With… curiosity. Interest. My body shivered under the scrutiny, a reaction I hadn’t expected.

It was the first time I’d seen her up close. Pictures didn’t do her justice. She was every bit the icon the White Fang painted her as, but up close, she was also disarmingly intimate. Her attire was bold — not vulgar, but definitely leaving little to the imagination. Her presence was magnetic, grounded, and utterly unflinching.

"Well," I started, voice thick with sarcasm and maybe too much wine, "I was supposed to have a date with your father tonight, but the bastard had more important matters. Apparently a newborn ranks higher than his wife these days."

The words came out sharper than I meant. Harsher. I hadn’t realized just how drunk I was. But even so, I didn’t regret them. Ghira had made me feel disposable, again.

Blake’s brow furrowed, concern flickering in her eyes. "Are you alright, Mom?"

And that — that broke me.

Maybe it was the tenderness in her voice, or the fact that she noticed when Ghira hadn’t. Maybe it was the years of disappointment, or just the wine taking its final toll. But something inside me cracked. The tears came suddenly, unbidden, spilling down my cheeks before I could stop them.

I hadn’t meant to cry. I hadn’t meant to ruin their night. But everything just came spilling out — the loneliness, the frustration, the grief I never fully processed. The aching love I still had for a man who no longer saw me, and the bittersweet joy of seeing my daughter happy while I was falling apart.

And yet, somewhere in that emotional collapse, there was a sense of catharsis. Because for the first time in a long while, I wasn’t hiding how I felt.

And I wasn’t alone.

{Zani's POV}

I certainly didn't expect the night to unfold the way it did. Initially, I imagined something simple—flirt with Blake a little, let the evening progress naturally. I figured we'd indulge in drinks, laughter, and soft touches that escalated into the kind of intimacy only the moon would bear witness to. Then, perhaps afterwards, I'd tease the idea of discussing [The Company] with her, slowly but surely threading the conversation into more serious territory. But that plan unraveled the moment we found ourselves tangled up with a second set of Bellabooty.

"I'm so, so sorry, Zani," Blake murmured, her voice a trembling whisper against my ear. I held the crying woman close in my arms—Khali, Blake's mother, beautiful and undeniably drunk off her ass. "I never thought Mom would show up here, of all places... and to ruin our date like this?"

The bitterness in her tone was tempered by guilt, and I gently nuzzled her cheek with my own before shifting my attention back to the woman sobbing into my shoulder. Khali may have been inebriated beyond reason, but even now, she radiated that unmistakable Belladonna allure. Her curves were nothing short of criminal. As fine as her ass was—and I'd be a damn liar to say I hadn't noticed—it was still attached to a mess of a woman who had just derailed my evening.

Still, I wasn't upset. Not truly.

"Don't worry, Sweetie~. The night’s far from ruined," I whispered, a slow smile teasing at the corners of my lips. "Let’s just get your dear old mother sorted, and then we’ll see to more... strenuous activities." My voice dipped with promise, and Blake’s blush confirmed she caught every insinuation.

Now came the matter of dealing with the sobbing woman clinging to me as we headed back to our shared home. Her mascara streaked across her cheeks like ink on parchment, and her breath carried the sour-sweet scent of plum wine.

"Are you feeling any better, Khali?" I asked, my tone warm yet unobtrusive. She had insisted earlier that I call her by name, and I saw no reason to deny her that wish. My fingers moved with practiced ease, rubbing slow circles into her shoulders as she trembled beneath my touch.

She hiccuped, then choked on a sob. "Fo-forgive me for ruining your night, darlings... You can ju-just drop me off at my house, and you two can be on your merry way..."

I shook my head gently, and without another word, I pulled her closer, guiding her head to rest against the soft swell of my chest. My fingers found her dark curls, stroking them rhythmically, while my other hand resumed its lazy, calming motion across her back.

"And leave you to return to that man? The one who turned his eyes elsewhere while your heart sat quietly breaking? No. I couldn’t possibly." My voice was laced with gentle conviction. No lies, not from me—not ever. "You’re Blake’s mother, and that alone means you deserve care. More than that, though... you deserve someone who sees you. Someone who won’t treat you like a shadow of your former self."

Khali looked up at me through wet lashes, startled and vulnerable. My words, carefully chosen and absolutely true, sunk their hooks into her. I saw the shift in her eyes. Not desire—not yet—but the barest crack in the wall she had built around herself.

This wasn’t how I expected the night to go, but I wasn't disappointed. Not in the slightest.

You see, I’d set my sights on collecting the complete set of Bellabooties. And if Khali was offering me a path—subtle, messy, unexpected—as a new piece of that treasure, I would graciously accept. I would have to persuade Blake in time, of course. Easing her into the idea would take care, softness, and just the right amount of suggestion. But she loved me. I’d already seen the way she melted under my touch, the way she looked at me like I hung the stars above her head.

Convincing her would be far from impossible.

As I whispered sweet nothings to Khali, each one laced with the kind of truths people often forget they need to hear, I began to see how deep her hurt ran. She was neglected, cast aside like a worn novel in favor of a younger, glossier distraction. I didn’t need to lie to make her feel treasured. I simply reminded her of what she was, what she had always been: desirable. Worthy.

"You shouldn’t have to apologize for existing, Khali," I murmured as I pressed a kiss to her temple, an act both innocent and loaded with quiet intention. "You gave so much of yourself to others, and now... now it’s time someone gave back to you."

My words, though soft, seemed to hit like waves against a shoreline. I could feel her body relax, breath by breath, as I continued to soothe her. There was something almost sacred in the act—taking in this weeping woman and offering her warmth without condition, just enough suggestion to leave her wondering what more I could offer.

I didn’t lie. I never could. So every praise, every affirmation I whispered into her ear—each one was a thread, weaving a tapestry around her heart. My hands, my voice, my presence... they were the tools of my subtle craftsmanship, and Khali, oh sweet Khali, was becoming my most delicate piece of work yet.

Back home, I helped her into the coziest chair in the living room, wrapping her in a soft blanket as Blake fetched her a glass of water. I knelt beside her, brushing a stray lock from her face.

"You’re safe here. Take as long as you need," I told her, resting my hand gently on hers. Her fingers curled instinctively around mine.

Blake returned and sat beside me, watching her mother with an odd mixture of exasperation and concern.

"She always does this when she drinks too much," Blake muttered, shaking her head. "But this is... this is a new level."

"She’s hurting," I said simply. "She needed a place to fall apart. Better here, in our arms, than somewhere cold and uncaring."

Blake looked at me then, eyes softening. She leaned in and kissed my cheek, gratitude glowing in her expression. "You’re incredible, you know that?"

I smiled, letting the moment linger.

When Khali finally drifted into sleep on the couch, her breathing even and her face more peaceful than it had been in years, I believe, I turned to Blake fully. Her eyes met mine, and in them, I saw desire rekindled.

"She’s not going to ruin our night," I whispered as I captured her lips in a kiss—deep, slow, full of fire. My hands roamed her waist, slipping under her blouse with teasing reverence.

Blake gasped against my mouth. "Zani..."

"Shhh. She’s resting. And I made a promise, didn’t I?" My fingers danced down her back. "The night is ours still."

In time, I would have them both. Not out of conquest, but out of care. I would cherish them, lift them, mold them into something even more radiant than before.

I wasn’t just collecting Bellabooties for the sake of it. I was building something—something lasting, something royal.

Queens, every one of them.

And I? I would be their devoted consort, never lying, always delivering.

Even if they never understood the full weight of my words.

This night was unexpected, yes.

But it was far from unwelcome.

Chapter Text

{Zani's POV}{18+}

Slowly, carefully, like handling the most delicate piece of porcelain, I slid Blake's dress from her shoulders. My fingers trembled, not from hesitation, but reverence. This—this was the next step in our bond, and I intended to savor every second. Blake deserved nothing but the utmost care, and I would give her just that. No half-measures, no rushed moments. Only love and the raw truth of our bodies.

"Zani~..." Blake's breathy moan escaped her lips as my featherlight touches glided along her skin. Like a shy maiden, she instinctively shielded her bare chest and pelvis with her arms. I couldn't help but chuckle softly, the corners of my lips lifting in amusement as I began undressing myself.

"None of that now, Sweetie~. I want to see all of you~... in your naked glory~." I murmured, voice rich with hunger, but laced with warmth. My words carried truth, unfiltered and sincere. They always did.

Blake hesitated, but her trust in me was stronger than her embarrassment. She lowered her arms, revealing her pert nipples and glistening, inviting folds. My eyes widened, and I licked my lips slowly, deliberately. She was... delectable. There she was, lying on my bed, utterly nude, exposed, and radiant like a goddess incarnate. I could barely contain the primal ache burning in my loins. My cock throbbed in anticipation, and even my nipples tightened with arousal.

"So beautiful... So damn gorgeous. Mine." I whispered, trailing kisses across her body. Her neck, her collarbone, her chest—every inch was anointed with the soft stain of my lipstick. Each kiss was a mark of adoration, each breath a vow. The taste of her skin was maddening.

"Zani~... Zani~..." Her voice was a song, trembling and needy, calling my name over and over. My heart throbbed with each utterance.

By the time I reached her core, I was utterly lost in her. Her scent filled my senses, rich and intoxicating. I wanted—no, I ached—to bury myself inside her. But foreplay was sacred, especially tonight. Especially for Blake. She had told me once, quietly, that despite her time with Adam, she remained untouched in this way. I wouldn't take her roughly, not tonight. No matter how badly I wanted to.

Looking up from between her thighs, her perky breasts creating a view both erotic and divine, I caught her eye. She nodded once, the smallest of gestures, but powerful in its meaning. She was ready.

I grinned.

And then I dove in.

"Oh~, oh~ OOOHHH~~!!!" Her cries were melodic, like poetry given voice. My tongue worked her folds with precision, coaxing and teasing, lapping up every drop of her divine nectar. Her taste was everything—sweet, tangy, uniquely Blake. Her thighs clenched around my head as wave after wave of pleasure coursed through her. And then—bliss. She came, gushing against my face, soaking me. I let it happen. Loved it.

Wiping the slickness from my face with two fingers, I brought them to my lips and sucked them clean. Delicious. Then, climbing back over her, I caged her between my arms.

"Are you ready, Sweetie~?" I asked, my cock—thick, pulsing, nine inches of fury—pressing against her slick entrance. Her eyes glistened, dazed but eager, and she nodded fervently.

"Please... please~ fuck me, Zani~. Fuck me and make me yours... make me your whore like every other girl you've fucked!"

Her filthiness stirred something in me, but I still moved slow. Deliberate. My experience guided me—she was a virgin, and so I would not hurt her. Inch by inch, I slid into her, stretching her tight walls with a patience rarely seen in me in these moments.

"Fuck~..." I moaned, shuddering as her warmth enveloped me. It was divine, like sliding into paradise itself. Her walls hugged me tightly, pulling me deeper. I paused, looking down at her. "Are you fine, Sweetie~?"

She took a breath, nodded.

That was all I needed.

Slowly, gently, I began to move. Each thrust carefully timed, giving her body space to adjust. Her arms wrapped around me, nails digging slightly into my back, her voice reduced to breathy moans. My name, again and again, spilling from her lips like a mantra.

I peppered her skin with hickies, kissed her collarbone, her throat, her shoulders. This wasn't just sex. This was communion. My hips found rhythm, our bodies beginning to move in sync. Each push forward a declaration, each withdrawal a promise.

"Such a tight little cunt~. I'm going to shape it to fit my cock perfectly~." I groaned, and her pussy clenched around me again. She was close.

She squirted again, this time mid-thrust, soaking us both. My grin widened with pride and hunger.

Without pulling out, I shifted us, flipping her atop me.

"Come on, Sweetie~. Don’t tell me you’re tired already~. I haven’t even cum once~."

Her eyes lit with playful defiance, and she nodded. With a grunt, she began to ride me. Slowly at first, finding her rhythm. Each downward push took more of me, until she was seated fully, our hips pressed flush. The sight of her stomach bulging from the sheer size of my cock—it undid me.

"That’s it, Sweetie~. Ride that cock~. Show me how much you want it~."

I held her hands, helping her balance. She bounced, moaning louder, wetter, until she was taking all nine inches like a seasoned lover. I couldn’t hold back any longer.

"FUCK~!" I cried out as I finally came, flooding her pussy with rope after rope of hot cum. Her scream followed, orgasm overtaking her again. Her body trembled, collapsing forward onto my chest, head resting on my soft, plush breasts.

We laid there, panting.

"That... that was the best..." Blake murmured.

I smirked, brushing her hair gently.

"B-but we forgot the condoms..."

Our eyes slid to her bag, stuffed with unused packs. I chuckled.

"Don’t worry, Sweetie~. You won’t get pregnant unless I wish it. I know ways~."

She blinked, unsure if I was joking, but there was truth in my voice. Always was.

We stayed in that soft embrace for a while. But eventually, I stirred.

"Wai-wait! What are you doing!?" Blake squeaked, alarmed as I stood up, holding her by the thighs.

"Sweetie~, the night’s far from over~."

That was her only warning before I thrust back in, resuming our fervent love-making. Her body welcomed me again and again, as I took her through the night, filling her to the brim, molding her to me.

"Yeah... you’re definitely going to need a harem to keep that beast down." Blake muttered between moans.

Her comment caught me off-guard.

"So... you're fine with that?" I asked softly, trailing kisses along the bruises I’d left on her neck. They'd linger for hours even if she had Aura.

She was quiet for a long moment, then finally nodded.

"I’ve thought about it. I’m fine with it. In fact... I think I want to be your Harem Manager."

I laughed, delighted.

"Well, Harem Manager, if you say so~."

I flicked her nipple, earning a cute moan.

"Then tell me... what about your mother? Do I have permission to pursue her?"

That made her pause, truly pause. I saw the internal struggle behind her eyes. But she eventually nodded, and I grinned.

"I don't want to speak poorly of my father... but if what Mom said is true, then... I don't mind."

She shifted slightly. I noticed.

Grinning wickedly, I pressed my cock against her once more.

"Sweetie~, just admit it. You're a kinky bitch into incest. I won’t mind~."

She gasped, trying to form a protest, but I gave her no chance. I thrust into her again, deeper than before. She clung to me, moaning loudly.

She was tighter than ever. Even after everything we'd done, her body responded like it was our first time all over again. Blake was mine—my little kinky kitty, my Queen, my treasure.

And the night was still young~.

{Sienna's POV}

This was wrong. This was an invasion of privacy. I knew that.

Zani was my most trusted—and only—Lieutenant. More than just a subordinate, she had become something of a constant in the chaotic whirlwind that defined my life. She deserved respect. She deserved her privacy. But in that moment, with the door cracked open and my name caught in my throat, none of that mattered.

What I saw pulled me in like gravity, and I couldn't break free. She was buried deep inside Blake, her cock still rock-hard, slick with their mingled arousal. The rhythm of her hips, the way she gripped Blake’s waist, the guttural moans slipping past clenched teeth—all of it hypnotized me. I should’ve turned away. I should’ve shut the door and retreated like any decent person would.

But I didn’t. Fuck, I didn’t.

I stood frozen, breath caught in my lungs, fingers already sliding between my thighs without conscious thought. I matched her tempo, mirroring Zani’s thrusts, my own fingers sinking deeper into my dripping cunt. My shoulder pressed against the wall as I tried to control my gasps, the heat in my core building with every second.

This wasn’t how tonight was supposed to go. I had only come to speak with Zani, to convince her—gently, persuasively—that she didn’t need to transfer to another branch. That we were stronger together. I had even rehearsed what I’d say. But the moment I approached her quarters and heard that moan, raw and thick with pleasure, everything unraveled.

I cracked the door just enough to call her name—but Blake’s cry stopped me cold. And once I looked inside, I couldn’t stop looking. My feet refused to move, my heart thrummed in my chest, and my hand found its rhythm between my legs.

I had always known Zani was sexually active. It was hard not to, given her unapologetic nature and the trail of admirers left behind in every hall we passed through. Still, I’d never witnessed it firsthand—never felt the weight of it pressing against my senses, igniting something raw and primal inside me.

And by the gods, Zani was a beast.

She moved with such focused hunger, giving and taking in equal measure, her body slick with sweat, muscles tensing and flexing with every motion. Blake clung to her like a lifeline, gasping, moaning, whispering her name like a mantra. Zani fucked her with reverence, but also with a feral intensity, as if claiming every part of her. It wasn’t just sex—it was something else, something deeper. Intimate. Real.

I don’t know how long I stood there. Maybe it had been hours. Maybe longer. Zani didn’t stop—only paused occasionally to kiss Blake, to whisper something low and comforting into her ear. And every time, Blake would nod, eyes wide with trust and desire, body trembling but eager for more.

My own cunt was soaked, the wet sounds of my fingers fucking myself echoing softly in the narrow hallway. Shame burned in my cheeks, but I couldn’t tear myself away. Not when Zani angled her hips just right, making Blake arch with a cry that went straight to my core. Not when her voice dropped low, coaxing, worshipping Blake like she was the only woman that mattered in the world.

I wasn’t proud of it, but gods, I wanted to be in Blake’s place. I wanted to feel that devotion, that relentless desire. I had always flirted with Zani in half-truths, in sly glances and playful remarks. But seeing this? It changed everything. I had thought I might be enough for her, thought maybe I could keep her to myself.

But I saw it now. Zani couldn’t be tamed by one woman. Her hunger was vast, powerful—and somehow still tender. A storm and a sanctuary all in one.

"Fuck me, fuck me..." I whispered under my breath, a prayer more than a request. I imagined Blake and I switching places, her melting away as I took her place under Zani’s body, as Zani’s hands claimed my hips, her lips brushing against my throat. But even then, I didn’t move. I stayed hidden, a voyeur drowning in her own lust.

My pussy ached from hours of relentless touch, overstimulated and raw, but I kept going. I watched Zani take Blake over and over, never relenting, never tiring. She was relentless, yes, but she was also... loving. Her touches weren’t rough for the sake of it—they were guided by something deeper, something sincere. Zani cared. I could see it in the way she cradled Blake’s face between thrusts, in the way she kissed her forehead, her lips, her shoulder. In the way she slowed down when Blake trembled too hard, only to build her up again.

Eventually, my body gave out before my desire did. My legs trembled, fingers slick and aching. I slid to the floor, back against the wall, trying to catch my breath. But my eyes stayed locked on them. On Zani. On the soft way she held Blake after a particularly intense orgasm, whispering words I couldn’t quite hear but didn’t need to.

Zani loved her.

And Blake... Blake loved her right back.

Yeah, keeping Zani to myself was never going to work.

I didn’t want to end up like Blake—not in a bad way, but in a way where I was left behind, caught in her wake. If I wanted to be part of this, I had to embrace all of it. All of her. Zani wasn’t a one-woman storm. She was a fucking machine in motion, and I was just now realizing that I didn’t need to stand outside in the rain. I could step in.

I remembered earlier—how Blake had moaned something about involving her own mother. About how willing she was to share. That alone should’ve shocked me, but instead it stirred a wicked hope in my chest. That meant there was room for more. That meant I had a chance.

And gods, from the way Zani and I had danced around each other for weeks now, the way her words always wrapped around me like silk and thorns, I had to believe she wanted me, too. Maybe not exclusively. Maybe not forever. But enough to make space for me among the others.

I pressed my forehead against the cool wall, chest heaving, cunt still twitching from my last climax. I felt pathetic—and yet exhilarated. This night had shattered something in me, but it had rebuilt something else. A deeper understanding of what Zani was, and what I wanted.

"She doesn't stop... gods..." I whispered, smiling through the haze of exhaustion. Zani was still going, slow now, almost torturous in her precision. Blake’s moans were quiet now, half-delirious, hands tangled in sheets, her body limp but craving.

Zani leaned down and kissed her deeply, murmuring something I couldn’t hear, something that made Blake smile in her daze. That tenderness made my heart ache.

I wasn’t jealous. Not anymore. I was enchanted.

Eventually, I rose to my feet, legs trembling, sweat drying on my skin. I didn’t knock. Didn’t speak. I just turned and left, my thoughts spinning like a storm cloud of lust, need, and revelation.

Tonight changed everything. And I would not let this opportunity pass.

Zani was not someone to be kept. She was to be worshipped, to be joined, to be embraced in all her overwhelming glory. I didn’t want to take Blake’s place.

I wanted to be right there beside her.

Whatever came next, I’d be ready.

And next time... I wouldn’t just be watching.

{Zani's POV}

"Are you certain about this, Sienna?" I asked, my brow furrowing in genuine confusion at her sudden request. Her declaration had thrown me off—unusual, even for someone like her. "Surely, even with the White Fang's current stability, they'd still require your presence. You're their High Leader, after all. Your place is here, in Menagerie, where the heart of the organization lies."

Her expression remained unwavering, confident. If I didn't know any better, I would have said she was simply desperate to remain close to me. And while I might not have voiced it, the notion didn't exactly bother me.

"That may be true," she said with quiet assurance, her tone carrying weight. "But I trust in the Lieutenants you've trained. They’re capable. They can fill the gap in my absence."

My gaze lingered on her. Those Lieutenants—yes, I'd trained them myself. But they were meant to stand in for me, not for her. Still, the fact that she’d even considered this step, that she would willingly leave Menagerie to trail me under the excuse of 'efficiency'—that meant something. Something more intimate. She wouldn’t say it, and I wouldn’t press her. Not directly.

If Sienna wished to remain at my side, I would not deny her. In truth, I had been considering how to approach the matter myself. Her initiative saved me the effort. Sienna was mine—whether she knew it yet or not—and I wasn’t the type to spurn a gift laid willingly at my feet.

"Well, you're the High Leader. Your word is law." I said smoothly, bowing slightly in mock deference, giving her the space to feel in control. It was a small gesture, but not an empty one.

Then, shifting tone, I added, "By the way, have you thought about it?"

She knew precisely what I meant. No clarification needed. Every seasoned member of the White Fang had exchanged their masks for the mark of my tattoos—a symbolic gesture that had grown into something of a rite. Everyone had undergone the change. Everyone except the newest recruits—and Sienna.

Sienna, who hadn’t declined, but rather requested something more personal. I’d agreed, of course. I always gave her space to make her own decisions. But the longer she lingered without it, the more the itch to ask returned.

Her answer came with a nod. "I have. And I’ve decided to have it placed... here~."

She rose to her feet in one smooth, deliberate motion, hips swaying with an elegance I’d long since grown to appreciate. Her fingers moved to the slit in her pants, parting the fabric to reveal a portion of her upper left thigh. Smooth. Bare. Tempting.

I grinned, anticipation bubbling beneath my calm exterior. I stepped closer. "Are you free now?"

She tilted her head, lashes fluttering with feigned innocence. "I've cleared my schedule for the day. We can start immediately."

I didn’t bother hiding my smile. "Very well. Follow me~."

She fell into step behind me as I led her through the corridors toward my quarters. Once inside, I gestured toward the bed. "Take your pants off for me, darling, while I prepare my equipment~."

Calling her 'darling' wasn’t an accident. It wasn’t a slip. It was an acknowledgment of what we both already knew but hadn’t spoken aloud. And the way she responded—without hesitation or correction—told me she’d accepted it.

As I began unpacking my tools, I ignored the stencil papers entirely. My [Aesthetic Talent] allowed me precision without need for guides. My hand would not falter.

Turning to face her, I was rewarded with a sight that stirred something deep within me. Sienna lay on her side, pants discarded, her thigh fully exposed... and her ass. Her glorious ass, pert and tight, perfectly in view. Not as generously endowed as Blake’s, perhaps, but still stunning in its own right. My fingers twitched with restrained desire.

I approached slowly, savoring the tension that grew thicker with each passing second. My palm found the curve of her hip, trailing down until it cupped the side of her rear.

"Do you have an image ready, darling~?" I whispered, my voice low, right by her ear. I saw the shiver that ran down her spine.

She fumbled for her Scroll, fingers clumsy, clearly affected. She turned the screen to me, revealing a tiger entwined with a moon—bold, primal, symbolic.

"Beautiful," I murmured. "This won’t take long. I promise. And for the Fangs?"

She hesitated, then mumbled, "Below the tiger..."

Her voice wavered as I began kneading her rear, deliberately slow. Her breath hitched. She didn’t pull away.

"Alright. Just let me know if you’re in any discomfort, darling~." I purred.

The statement was technically honest. I didn’t specify what kind of discomfort. Whether from the ink or my touch—it made no difference. She nodded, silent, surrendering.

I cleaned the area thoroughly, careful with each motion, letting the tips of my fingers linger longer than necessary. A caress disguised as routine.

As the needle buzzed to life, I settled beside her, one hand on her waist to steady her, the other beginning its work. The sensation of skin beneath needle was familiar. But her body, warm and yielding beneath my hands, was a unique delight.

We spoke, but nothing of importance. Idle chatter. Me, flirting more than speaking. Her, responding with that soft, breathy cadence that betrayed her desire.

My hands wandered. First, I traced lines of ink. Then I began to trace the edges of her hips, the sensitive skin near her thigh, even daring to reach higher. She didn’t object. In fact, she arched into my touch more than once.

When my fingers skimmed her breasts through her top, I felt the slightest tremble in her body—but still, no protest. Her breathing deepened, chest rising and falling in slow, heavy waves.

The tattoo session stretched into nearly an hour. My work was precise, my attention undivided. At least outwardly. Inwardly, every second of prolonged contact fed the building storm.

Finally, I stepped back, admiring the completed tattoo. The tiger, fierce and elegant. The moon, framing it like a crown. And below, the signature Fangs.

"All done, darling~." I said, voice practically dripping with amusement and satisfaction.

Sienna twitched, her whole body tense. Her thighs pressed together instinctively. She’d cum more than once during the session—silently, subtly, as if ashamed. But her body had betrayed her.

I’d half-planned to end it there. Let her simmer in the aftermath of need unmet. But as I turned, she reached for me—fingers curled around my wrist like iron.

"Oh no you don't," she growled, voice hoarse with frustration. "You don’t get to leave me like this. All hot and bothered, aching, and unsatisfied. Get your damn cock out and start pounding me. Now."

I blinked. Then, I laughed. Low and deep.

"Very well~. As my darling commands~."

Chapter Text

{Zani's POV}{18+}

Removing my clothes as sensually as I could manage, I let each layer fall away with a deliberate slowness, watching Sienna with eyes brimming with barely concealed hunger. Her gaze met mine, and for a fleeting moment, the tension between us stretched taut like a wire ready to snap. I watched, utterly enraptured, as she peeled her top away, revealing smooth, glowing skin and taut muscles beneath. Then came her thong, discarded with a casual flick to the growing pile of clothes by her pants.

A wicked grin curled across my lips as my eyes traced her figure. Her breasts, though not large, bounced with an energy that made my fingers twitch in anticipation. Small, perky tits were my favorite—tight, sensitive, and beautifully shaped. I’ve always found something divine in the elegance of less. And Sienna? She was a masterpiece. Chocolate skin with a satin sheen, strong and supple curves that hinted at both discipline and wild abandon.

I stepped forward, drinking in the sight like a rare vintage. Women like her were a rarity, and I wasn’t about to waste the opportunity to indulge, to savor the subtle delights that came with every inch of her. My lips hovered just above her nipple, letting my breath cascade across it in slow, deliberate waves. The way it tightened from just that—the sheer power in that reaction—made me hum.

Then, without warning, I claimed the offered peak, tongue swirling before I suckled it like the finest treat I had ever tasted. My hand found her other breast, fingers teasing and rolling her nipple until it matched the other in perfect arousal.

“F-Fuck~!” Sienna moaned, her voice a shiver that ran straight through me. Gods, I loved when my women reacted like that. My grin deepened. Sure, I cheated with [Sticky Fingers], but that hardly dulled the satisfaction. This was where I thrived—in the feel of skin, the writhing of bodies under my touch, the surrender and chaos of pleasure.

My mouth left her breast with an audible pop, and I captured her lips instead. She gasped in surprise, which gave me all the opportunity I needed to claim her mouth, tongue sliding in to tangle with hers. She moaned against me, her hands grasping at my shoulders while mine roamed her form, searching for those special spots that made her melt.

One such spot was already marked by my work—the fresh tattoo on her thigh. She’d moaned and squirmed beneath my hands while I inked her, a sure sign that she was more than just receptive to pain. She liked it. Craved it.

My palm came down with a light smack against that tattooed flesh, and the guttural moan I received in return was everything. I chuckled lowly and did it again, harder. That’s when she came, trembling violently beneath me.

Pulling back, I took a moment to admire the aftermath. Sienna lay sprawled beneath me, breath ragged, skin flushed and shimmering with sweat. Gods, she was stunning. “Are you ready, darling~?” I asked, my voice rich and syrupy, layered with just enough tease to make her whimper.

She nodded, eyes glazed over with need. That was all I needed. Aligning myself to her soaked entrance, I plunged into her in one sharp thrust. She came again instantly, her body seizing around me, her voice a broken cry of ecstasy.

Unlike Blake, who had been a virgin when we first fucked, Sienna was not only clearly experienced, but also a delightful masochist. Her body welcomed me, no blood, no resistance—just hunger. It made dominance come as naturally as breathing.

I began to thrust into her with building rhythm, not rough just yet, but purposeful. Despite the permission that dripped from her moans, I held back slightly. Just because she was a masochist didn’t mean she needed pain all the time—not unless she asked for it.

“Harder~!” she chanted like a prayer, hips bucking up against mine. That was the only invitation I needed.

I rose to my feet, bending her body awkwardly in half, her head pressed to the mattress as I started pounding into her relentlessly. The new angle made her sob with pleasure, the sound only fueling me further.

“You like this, darling~? You like it when I get rough with you?” I purred, not missing a beat as I fucked her through each scream and moan. Her juices splashed against our thighs with every brutal stroke, and gods, was it erotic.

“Yes, daddy~! I love it, I love it, I love it!” she cried out.

Fuck, that was hot. The way she begged, the way her voice cracked and broke with emotion—it lit something primal in me. She was completely mine in this moment.

“Well, let daddy take care of you then, darling~.” I growled, lowering myself over her once more, hips pistoning with renewed vigor. Her fingers clawed at the sheets, her body a mess of need and tremors beneath me.

“That’s it, darling~. Cum for daddy~.”

Her scream tore through the room, her climax shaking her frame violently, and I watched every second with lust-blurred satisfaction. But just as I was about to push her into another, the door creaked open.

I turned, blinking in surprise.

Blake stood there—naked, calm, amused.

“You work fast, Zani,” she said with a playful lilt, stepping into the room. “It hasn’t even been a day, and you’ve already added to your collection.”

She knelt by Sienna’s side, brushing damp hair from her forehead. “Though, I should’ve expected it. High Leader Sienna’s been giving you those hungry eyes for weeks now.”

She held up her Scroll, showing me a message. “She asked for my help, you know. During your tattoo session. Said she watched us last night and couldn’t resist anymore. Asked if it was okay if she joined.”

I chuckled, then turned to Sienna, still reeling from orgasm. “Naughty girl~. Here I was, thinking you were a good girl~. And yet you’ve been planning this all along?”

Using my foot, I nudged her face upward—and instead of answering, she took my toe into her mouth, sucking on it with obscene hunger.

“Godsdamn.” I growled, arousal spiking once more. “It seems daddy has to punish you~.”

Blake nodded beside me, clearly ready for what was to come. She leaned in and kissed Sienna’s cheek, whispering something into her ear that made the woman shudder.

The three of us tangled together on the sheets, bodies slick and warm. I felt Sienna’s love in every gasp and Blake’s happiness in every gentle touch she offered in between. There was no jealousy here—only acceptance, affection, and a shared understanding of what it meant to belong to me.

And as I leaned over both of them, filling Sienna again while Blake kissed my neck, I couldn’t help but murmur with a smile, “You’re both mine now~.”

{Timeskip}{Kali's POV}

I never thought that my life would lead me here.

After that night—the one where I completely ruined Blake and Zani’s date—I somehow found myself roped back into the White Fang. Just like that. One misstep, and my whole trajectory shifted. It was a far cry from the quiet life I had tried to rebuild. And yet, the real twist, the one that truly broke me, wasn’t my reluctant return to activism. No—it was the divorce. My divorce from Ghira, brought on by the insistence of not only my daughter but Zani as well. And you know what? It hurt. It hurt so damn much.

The look Ghira gave me when he saw the divorce papers still haunts me. He didn’t yell. Didn’t ask questions. Didn’t fight for us. He simply nodded, as if it were already decided, like this chapter of our lives had already ended somewhere along the line and I just hadn’t noticed. It crushed me. Our love may have frayed with time, but that didn’t dull the ache of watching it all unravel. I cried myself to sleep that night, sobbing until I couldn’t breathe.

But I wasn’t alone. Zani, Blake, and even Sienna were there. They cradled me like I was something precious, something breakable. Their warmth surrounded me, their hands steady as I broke apart in their arms. They never left my side—not once—not until I found my strength again. Somehow, they kept me from crumbling completely. Somehow, they made me feel like I still mattered.

Soon after, we left Menagerie. Too many memories lingered there, too much pain. So we moved to Vale. Zani had taken an interest in the Vale branch of the White Fang, and Blake had mentioned Beacon as the premier school for aspiring Huntsmen. It was a pragmatic move, sure, but it also felt like a fresh start.

While Blake buried herself in preparations for initiation—finalizing documents, tuning her body and mind for the tests ahead—Zani and Sienna got straight to work cleaning up the local White Fang branch. And when I say cleaning up, I mean sweeping through the rot that had settled there. Corrupt leadership, violent tendencies, open disdain for any hint of diplomacy. That was all being burned out.

Orders were issued. Trouble-makers exiled. Some arrested. Some simply vanished—I never asked how, and I don’t think I want to know. It was brutal, but it was necessary. And slowly, something resembling order and integrity began to take root.

I wasn’t idle during all this. Once I’d gotten myself together, I offered what help I could—mostly paperwork, bureaucracy, coordination. The same work I had once done for Ghira. Only, Zani surprised me. She was sharper than I expected. Younger than me, yes, but with a mind like a knife. Efficient. In control. And oddly... careful. It didn’t take long before I realized I wasn’t teaching her anything. She was teaching me.

Together—her leading, Sienna organizing, and me assisting—we managed to bring the Vale branch to a new standard in under a week. It wasn’t perfect. Hell, it wasn’t even good yet. But it was better. And that, for once, felt like enough.

“How are things on your end, Kali?”

I jumped slightly when her hands rested on my shoulders. Zani had a habit of doing that—touching, always touching. She was affectionate in the way predators often are, all warmth and claws wrapped into one gesture. It took me a while to get used to it, to stop flinching every time. Now, I’d come to expect it. Still, it never failed to catch me off guard.

I shivered. Her touch had that effect. Her fingers pressing into me—gentle but certain—like she knew exactly how to unmake someone with care alone.

“Things are looking good, Zani,” I replied, focusing on the data pad in front of me to ground myself. “Reports say we’re making headway with the Valean Council. Real headway.”

Zani’s smile bloomed slow, her lips curling like she already knew what I was going to say before I did.

That was the thing about her. She never lied, not outright. But her words carried that strange, layered weight—like they danced around truths instead of declaring them. A silver tongue wrapped in honeyed riddles. It made her both dangerous and oddly comforting.

When we had arrived, she’d gone straight to the council. Alone. I never found out exactly what she said—only that she returned with a small but groundbreaking win: fairer wages for faunus workers in Vale. A huge leap forward, accomplished in a day. One day. I’d spent years pushing for that same change with Ghira. Years, and here comes Zani with her calculated charm and unsettling intensity, just waltzing into the Council Chambers and walking out with justice.

It was humbling. It was infuriating. It was... impressive.

“They’re starting to open up more,” I continued, clearing my throat. “Smaller concessions for now, but it’s something. More than I thought we’d get this early.”

“That’s good, that’s good.”

Her fingers lingered a little too long before finally withdrawing. My skin still tingled. She circled around me with feline grace, sitting on the edge of the desk, her long legs crossed elegantly.

“And how’s Blake doing?” she asked, tone casual, though her eyes flicked toward me with veiled interest.

“She’s excited. Nervous, but focused.” I smiled at the thought of my daughter. “I think she’ll do well at Beacon. She’s been training nonstop this week. Keeps pestering you for more sparring matches.”

“She’s a quick learner. Smart, too.”

I nodded. “You’re a good teacher, Zani.”

She tilted her head at me. “Oh? Is that admiration I hear, Kali?”

I rolled my eyes, though my cheeks flushed despite my best efforts. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“I would never,” she replied, voice low and velvet-smooth. “I have no need for inflated egos. Only honest truths.”

There it was again—that strange sincerity. Like every word was weighed, measured, and shaped into something beautiful and dangerous.

“I still find it amusing that Blake suggested you join Beacon’s staff, though.” I added, trying to steer the conversation into safer waters.

Zani laughed. A genuine, throaty sound that sent an involuntary thrill down my spine.

“She jokes often,” she said, brushing an invisible speck from her coat. “But I found the idea... entertaining.”

I gave her a look. “You didn’t.”

“I did.”

“You didn’t.”

She grinned like the devil himself. “I did.”

I blinked. “Wait, seriously?”

She nodded. “Beacon accepted. I’m officially their assistant Combat Instructor.”

My mouth parted, stunned. “You actually applied?”

Her smile only widened. “I never said I wouldn’t.”

“But—you—Blake—”

“Don’t tell her. I want to surprise her.”

I stared at her, dumbfounded. This woman never stopped. Never let anyone pin her down or anticipate her next move.

“Zani,” I muttered, shaking my head. “You’re going to give me gray hairs.”

She leaned forward, her gaze fixed on mine. “Would you like me to pluck them for you, Kali?”

I flushed deeper, looking away. There it was again. That tension. The pull I refused to name. Zani’s presence was intoxicating, maddening. And yet, I found myself leaning toward it more than I should. More than I dared admit.

To make matters worse, my room shared a wall with hers. Every night, without fail, I heard... everything. Zani’s stamina was nothing short of legendary. The walls were thin, and the sounds that came through them were not for the faint of heart. The moans. The pleas. The rhythm of bodies in motion. It was relentless.

I didn’t know how Blake and Sienna functioned during the day. From the sounds of it, they barely got any sleep. And Zani—Zani was always composed, always perfect. I hated how effortlessly she wore her wickedness, how confident she was in her power over others.

And how it made me feel.

But I kept those thoughts to myself. I had a job to do. A daughter to support. A movement to help rebuild. I didn’t have time to get distracted by silver tongues and warm hands.

Even if they made me shiver in the best and worst ways.

“Just... be careful, alright?” I said finally. “Beacon has rules. And students. Lots of students.”

She chuckled. “I assure you, Kali, I am always careful. Precision is one of my strongest traits.”

That wasn’t comforting.

I sighed, returning my gaze to the papers spread across the desk.

We were making progress. That mattered. We were doing good work.

Even if the air between us crackled like a live wire.

Even if Zani’s presence made my heart beat too fast.

Even if I couldn’t stop wondering what she would do next.

I just hoped I’d survive it.

{Zani's POV}

Looking through the [Company Phone], I browsed the catalog of upgrades and options, idly tapping the screen while contemplating my next move. I'd already wrapped up my [Mission] involving Adam—cucking him thoroughly had earned me a satisfying [298 Credits]. A generous reward for something that honestly felt more like a pleasure than a task. Afterward, I went ahead and sold Adam too, squeezing out a few more [Credits] from that whole debacle. Not long after, I checked off another [Objective] connected to a different [Mission], netting me another [40 Credits].

Naturally, the first thing I did was pay off my [Loan]. No point in letting that hang over my head. After that, I purchased [Talent Sharing] for both [Martial Talent] and [Soul Talent]. The results were almost immediate. Blake had improved rapidly under my guidance. Her growth in just a week was astounding—even her Aura had become notably stronger. That alone eased some of the worry I had about her survivability in what’s to come. Her devotion wasn't lacking, but strength matters more than sentiment in our world.

Now, with all that done, I was left with [296 Credits] to spare.

"What to buy, what to buy..." I murmured aloud, tapping my chin as I stared at the [Company Phone]. So many choices. More traits from my [Heritage]? Or perhaps I could invest in additional [Talents]? There were countless paths ahead, and each one had its own temptations.

I shrugged, deciding to start with two specific purchases from my [Heritage]—[Howl At The Moon] and [Animal Magnetism]. The former would help me control my bestial urges more efficiently, as well as shape how my beast form manifested. I may still look hot in my wereram form, but I’d rather manage the aesthetics. Less fur would be ideal. As for the latter—well, who could resist an easier time drawing others in? The benefits were both practical and personal.

With those secured, I still had enough [Credits] left to pick up more [Lures]. I went with [Alluring Whisper], [Potpourri], and, since I’d start teaching next week, [Don't Stand So Close To Me]. These would help me [Capture] my targets more effectively. With only [106 Credits] remaining to keep for emergencies, I finally closed the [Company Phone] and shifted my focus to the recruits I was currently training.

I couldn’t help but feel a flicker of pride. In just under a week, I had done what most leaders would take months to accomplish. The Vale branch of the White Fang was beginning to earn a sliver of respect among the local populace. Sure, some still viewed us as terrorists, but perception is a slow creature to move. That kind of change takes persistent effort and strategic finesse—qualities I prided myself on.

The truth is, it wasn’t just brute force or fear-mongering that would shift public opinion—it was visible, meaningful reform. I had another route in mind for improving our image: the Valean Council.

When I first arrived in Vale, I hadn’t wasted time. I went straight to the Council chambers, demanding their attention. They were less than pleased to see me, of course, but I wasn’t there for pleasantries. Through calm persistence and a silvered tongue, I had them begrudgingly agree to fairer wages for faunus. There had been threats tossed around during the negotiation—naturally—but I danced around them like a breeze through leaves. I never made promises I couldn’t keep, nor did I outright lie. I simply offered truths from angles they hadn’t yet considered.

And now? My influence was beginning to bud within the Council halls.

The first thing I did after we rooted out corruption in the Vale branch and secured our footing was open a tattoo parlor. An unconventional move, perhaps, but strategic. We leased an old building and gave it new life. Of course, people were hesitant. Not many trusted a faunus to permanently etch symbols onto their skin, and even fewer respected the art itself. But that’s where pretty privilege worked its subtle magic.

I made sure I was always visible through the front windows—sleeves rolled up, tattoos on full display, delicate inkwork dancing across my skin. My appearance drew them in. First out of curiosity. Then, fascination. From there, it was easy to [Capture] civilians and slowly turn them into [Devotees]. They weren’t strong. Not worth many [Credits]. But they served another purpose—as walking billboards and gentle advocates. They talked. They posted. They smiled more at faunus on the streets. It was a beginning, at least.

"Lieutenant Zani! Your guests have arrived!" a voice called out, interrupting my thoughts. I turned my head and caught sight of the approaching figures.

"Good morning, Headmaster Ozpin. Vice-Headmistress Glynda." I greeted, voice smooth, composed, my smile well-practiced.

When I had applied for a teaching position at Beacon, I had known there would be scrutiny. My name had spread like wildfire, both a warning and a curiosity. And Ozpin, for all his cryptic charm, was no fool. He wanted to see for himself. Hence today’s visit.

"Good morning, Miss Waves." Ozpin replied, ever polite. Glynda gave a brief nod, her eyes hidden behind those signature lasses.

Today was the agreed-upon day for a demonstration. I had spent the early morning preparing the grunts—my [Devotees]—for the performance. Thanks to [Talent Sharing], my teachings extended to them as well, though not as effectively as with [Companions]. Still, the results were visible.

"You've arrived at just the right moment." I said with a flick of my hand, gesturing toward the fifty White Fang grunts assembled on the field. Each one stood in perfect formation, disciplined and focused. Glynda made a small sound of acknowledgment, clearly impressed.

"I must say, they certainly look prepared." Ozpin observed, glancing across the gathered soldiers.

"You said most of them lack Aura, and have only been under your training for less than a week?" Glynda asked, tapping away at her tablet.

"Indeed. High Leader Sienna and I assumed command of this branch just last week. These are mostly fresh recruits, but I don’t see that as an excuse for mediocrity." I replied, voice steady and light. Every word true, though danced around the harsher realities. I didn’t say they were failures when we found them. I didn’t say they were afraid. I didn’t need to.

One would think Ozpin would be more alarmed by a sudden surge of new faces in a group previously branded as terrorists. But instead, the man simply looked around with a contemplative expression, as if weighing invisible scales.

"Then let’s not dilly-dally," he said finally. "Show me just how much you can teach in under a week."

At his prompt, I nodded sharply and turned to the recruits. "Everyone! Prepare yourselves!"

They saluted in unison—sharp, clean movements that made me grin. I leapt into the center of the field, the recruits scattering with coordinated grace. Not in panic, but in preparation. They knew what was coming.

This demonstration wasn’t just about them. It was about me—what I could teach, and how powerful I was myself. I wasn’t about to waste this opportunity to impress Beacon’s leadership.

I stretched out one arm and called forth my Aura, letting it shimmer faintly across my body. The air grew tense as the recruits surrounded me in a wide circle. I gave them only a moment before charging toward the nearest one, a quick blur of motion followed by a controlled strike that knocked him back without serious harm. The rest sprang into action immediately.

They fought as I had taught them—smart, reactive, and unified. I moved among them like a wraith, dodging strikes, disarming with a twist, redirecting blows with graceful pivots. Their growth was evident in every movement, and I made sure to showcase that.

From the corner of my eye, I caught Glynda’s subtle nod, and the ghost of a smile on Ozpin’s face. That was all I needed.

After several rounds, I finally halted the exercise, raising my hand. The recruits backed off, breathing heavily, but still standing strong. Their discipline held.

I turned to Ozpin and Glynda, brushing a lock of hair from my face. "As you can see, while they’re still rough around the edges, they have potential—and I know how to bring it out."

Ozpin clasped his hands behind his back. "That much is evident. We’ll review your results again, but for now... welcome aboard, Miss Waves."

I gave a bow, low and respectful but never submissive. "Thank you, Headmaster. I look forward to what’s ahead."

The future was unfolding swiftly, and with each move, I was weaving myself deeper into Vale’s heart. There were still many steps to take, more people to [Capture], and influence to spread. But I had time. Time, and a plan.

And if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that patience, paired with a pretty face and a sharper mind, can conquer just about anything.

Chapter Text

{Blake's POV} 

Today was the day.

I could feel the anticipation coiled in my chest, buzzing just beneath the surface like an electric current. After a week and a half of dedicated training under Zani, I genuinely felt ready for anything. I mean, who wouldn’t feel confident with [Martial Talent] and [Soul Talent] boosting them along? Zani didn’t hold back either—her training was brutal but efficient, stripping away hesitation and replacing it with instinct. I’d grown more in ten days than I had in the last year, and the best part? It felt earned. I worked for it.

Of course, the situation with Zani was… complicated. The day she opened up to Sienna and me about where she came from—her origins, her real purpose—we were pissed. There’s no polite way to put it. She’d kept us in the dark about being a damn agent for some interdimensional company that literally enslaved people by copying them into [Captured] formats. Yeah. That bombshell took some time to process.

We felt betrayed. Who wouldn’t? But over time, we started to understand. This wasn't a choice she made willingly. Zani was bound, forced into servitude by beings we couldn’t even comprehend, let alone fight against. If she stopped doing her job, they wouldn't hesitate to obliterate her—or worse. And somehow, despite all that, her affection for us remained untouched. Genuine. If anything, it felt deeper.

She loved us. Took care of us. Protected us with that terrifying power of hers. And when I say terrifying, I mean it. I’ve seen her obliterate Grimm with a flick of her sword. Sienna and I knew that, regardless of the circumstances, Zani's heart was hers to give—and she gave it to us. So yeah, maybe we were technically enslaved under the [The Company], but damn, I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Immortality? The potential to become godlike? Love, safety, freedom within the bonds we shared? It was more than worth it.

And so, here I was. Standing at the gates of Beacon Academy. A place I never imagined myself in, not even once as a child. Becoming a Huntress had never been the dream. No, my fate was to be White Fang, through and through. Loyal to the cause, raised in rebellion, dedicated to the movement. But fate’s a funny thing. Now, I stood here still a proud member of White Fang—an elevated White Fang, under Zani and Sienna's rule—and also a potential student of Beacon. I actually had a chance to finish my education, to grow stronger, smarter. More lethal.

A smile tugged at the corners of my lips as I took in my surroundings, eyes drifting lazily over my potential classmates. The ride here on the bullhead was uneventful—I’d spent most of it with my nose in a book—but now that I was on the ground, everything felt... real. Teams of four, that was the tradition. I wondered who I’d be paired with. Would they be strong? Smart? Beautiful?

Because let’s be honest—if I was forming bonds for life, they were definitely going to end up part of Zani’s harem. No question. That was a given. Her harem was mine, and mine was hers. So of course, I was hoping to be teamed up with gorgeous, competent women. Loyalty was sexy. Power was sexier. And I wanted Zani surrounded by both.

BOOM!

An explosion rocked the courtyard, snapping me out of my thoughts. Instinct had me halfway into a defensive stance before my eyes caught up to the action. Smoke rose near the main walkway, and through the haze, I saw the culprits—two girls, one of whom clearly had Schnee written all over her face and outfit. The other was a shorter girl in black and red, both of them covered in soot like they’d just walked out of a cartoon explosion.

My gut told me to avoid the drama. Schnees were trouble, and I had zero interest in starting my Beacon journey with a fight. But then I saw the red girl—dazed, confused, spirals in her eyes—and I sighed. Of course I stepped in. How could I not?

As I approached, I caught the tail end of Weiss Schnee’s scolding, her voice shrill with condescension, pamphlet waving like a weapon.

"-do you even know who I am?" she demanded.

The soot-covered girl blinked at her in confusion, clearly too dazed to even pretend to know.

"Weiss Schnee." I said flatly, cutting through the tension like a blade.

Weiss immediately perked up at the sound of her name, straightening her back like I’d just bestowed a crown on her head. "Finally! Some recognition."

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes and instead shifted my attention to the girl still on the ground. Up close, she looked younger—probably too young for Beacon. That was odd. Still, I extended a hand to her.

"You alright there?"

She blinked a few times, still dazed, before gingerly taking my hand and pulling herself to her feet. Weiss squawked in protest.

"Hey! Why would you—"

Then she trailed off.

I arched an eyebrow, turning to see why she stopped so suddenly, only to see that she was staring at my ears.

"Yes?" I prompted, voice light but edged, like silk over glass.

To my surprise, she didn’t snap or sneer. She coughed into her hand, visibly collecting herself. "Nothing. But you!" She turned her ire back to the red girl, who was now practically hiding behind me. "Just be sure to watch where you're going!"

And just like that, she stormed off.

Huh. That went both exactly as expected and completely not. I’d assumed she’d lose her damn mind at the sight of a Faunus, like most of her family, but she didn’t. Not fully. Maybe she was holding it in, or maybe she was just better at politics than her reputation suggested. Either way, she still laid into the poor girl behind me.

"That girl was weird." the redhead muttered.

I snorted. "You’re not wrong."

My eyes trailed after Weiss as she walked away. Pale skin, sharp features, slender frame—not a lot in the curve department, but still beautiful in that highborn, frosty way. Haughty to the core. I wondered… would Zani be interested in taming a brat? She did enjoy being Sienna’s "Daddy," after all. Might be fun for her. And, well, I wouldn’t mind a turn either. Schnees were fun to break. Metaphorically, of course. Mostly.

"Hi there. Name’s Blake. Yours?"

The girl peeked out from behind me, her eyes wide and unsure. Definitely younger than the rest of the students around. What the hell was she doing here?

"I—uh—fudge—I’m Ruby! Ruby Rose!"

Cute. Flustered. Adorable in that goth-light kind of way. Despite her age, if she was accepted into Beacon, then she was legally in the clear. We were training to fight monsters here, not attend tea parties. Her presence was strange, sure, but intriguing. And intriguing was always welcome.

"You wanna come with me? I was heading to orientation before all... that happened."

She brightened instantly. "Sure! I actually don’t know where it is, so that would really help."

I nodded and led the way, Ruby falling into step beside me. I could feel her sneaking glances at me every so often, and I didn’t blame her. I wasn’t exactly dressed to blend in. Zani always said to walk like you owned the world and dared someone to challenge you for it.

Yes… Beacon was already proving to be interesting.

And I had the distinct feeling it was going to get much more so.

{Zani's POV}

“Any expectations about your potential students?” Ozpin asked, his voice calm as he took a cautious sip from the coffee I had brewed—a blend so divine he feared it might vanish before he could properly savor it. His reverence for my ambrosia-like brew was almost comical; it wasn’t just coffee anymore, it was an experience. One he feared to gulp too quickly, as if it might slip away like a dream.

I tilted my head and gave a nonchalant shrug, my eyes lazily following the slow swirl of the terminal screen. “Obviously, I expect Blake to excel,” I replied, my tone matter-of-fact, devoid of even a hint of doubt. “Not only did she come to me with solid training, but she’s also been under my guidance for months now. The past week and a half alone? Intense. She’s had the kind of training that breaks you down and builds you anew.”

Favoritism? Certainly. I didn’t hide it—why should I? The girl had potential, and I had helped sharpen it into something truly dangerous. The others might catch up eventually, but Blake was already leagues ahead.

Moments before, we had flung the new batch of initiates into the Emerald Forest like dice onto a well-worn board. Now that the chaos had been properly initiated, we teachers had gathered around the holographic terminal, its shifting views capturing various angles of the sprawling forest.

The series never bothered to show it, but the number of applicants who attempted to breach Beacon’s gates was massive—far more than the audience would believe. Hundreds, definitely. It was a bloody miracle so many managed the journey at all. Hired Huntsmen lurked among the trees, hidden and vigilant, ready to intervene if things turned too deadly. Even then, some had already failed miserably—botched landings, broken limbs, unconscious bodies dragged away before they could so much as blink.

Those were the unlucky ones. Carted off for healing, sure—but they were out. Failure this early was brutal, yet it was also the reason Beacon stood above the rest. Ozpin’s strategy was simple and effective: initiate earlier, screen harder, and keep the elite. The other Kingdoms were more forgiving in their entry procedures, but that kindness bred mediocrity. Ozpin didn’t want mediocrity. He wanted the best.

Of course, there were still gaps in the net—some would inevitably slip through. One, in particular, had already caught our collective attention: Jane Arc. A gender-swapped echo of Jaune Arc, thanks to [Universal Calibration II].

Ozpin gave me a knowing glance. “I’ll concede to your evaluation of Blake, but what of the rest? You have a good eye. Surely you’ve noticed others worth grooming?”

I let out a quiet hum, the kind that could mean anything and everything all at once. “Lie Rin, Nora Valkyrie, Jane Arc, Pyrrha Nikos, Weiss Schnee, Yang Xiao Long, and Ruby Rose.”

Ozpin’s brow lifted in quiet amusement. He knew, of course. Everyone I named was part of the destined core, though he himself was unaware of it. But did I feel guilty? Not at all. Why deny excellence just because it was foretold? Fate had its favorites, and so did I.

Glynda, however, wasn’t as convinced.

“Jane Arc?” she scoffed, arms folded across her chest like a schoolmistress reprimanding a delinquent. “With all due respect, it’s obvious the young woman is completely out of her depth. Her documents are forged. Sloppy ones at that. And gods, she doesn’t even have Aura!”

As if summoned by her doubt, one of the terminals flickered, displaying Pyrrha placing a gentle hand on Jane’s shoulder—her Aura awakening in a shimmer of light. Destiny, it seemed, had a flair for timing.

I let out a soft, amused breath. “Easier to teach her that way. No bad habits to unlearn if she’s a blank slate.”

Glynda’s expression contorted in shock, mouth parting as if she might scold me, but no words came. I met her gaze and smiled slowly—faint, predatory, deliberate. Her eyes widened, a blush creeping up her neck, painting her cheeks a furious red. Her reaction only made me lean in slightly, my voice dropping.

“And you, Professor Goodwitch... surely you appreciate the value of molding someone untouched by prior flaws?”

Her lips twitched, caught between outrage and intrigue. She turned away with a huff, but not before I saw it—the flush in her ears, the slight curl of her fingers gripping her scroll too tightly.

“Oh ho ho! What an interesting outlook, Miss Waves!” Peter Port laughed, his round frame jostling with each guffaw. “I, for one, am curious to see what kind of Huntress Jane Arc becomes under your tutelage—if she survives, of course!”

I offered him a small smile and returned my attention to the terminal. The chaos was brewing. Of the 400 hopefuls, 204 had already been removed from the equation. A third of them failed the landing alone—nothing like being flung into the sky to test your grace.

Beacon only had room for 64. Small numbers. Smaller than your average university intake, sure, but it meant we could focus. The money saved didn’t go to waste—it was rerouted into refining those who remained. Quality over quantity. Always.

“And that’s the final pair.” Ozpin murmured, his gaze sharpening on a screen showing Lie Rin and Nora Valkyrie. A gender-flipped Lie Ren—another gift from [Universal Calibration II].

I wondered if it was universal. Would all the main male cast be replaced by their female counterparts? It felt intentional. Convenient. Crafted. And I wasn’t complaining.

“Let’s see what kind of chaos they stir.” I whispered, my eyes narrowing as Ruby and Weiss charged toward a Nevermore. Ah, the infamous bird. This was where things got exciting.

Glynda shifted beside me, the scent of her perfume barely masked by the sterile air of the control room. Sharp and clean—just like her. I didn’t look her way, but I felt her glance at me, subtle and assessing.

“Your methods are unconventional.” she finally said.

I laughed under my breath. “Unconventional doesn’t mean ineffective. Or... unenticing.”

She bristled. “You play dangerous games.”

“Always.”

We watched the screen in silence after that, but the tension remained. Her stance had changed slightly, weight tilted in my direction. She wanted to challenge me. Or maybe she wanted something else entirely.

Either way, I welcomed it.

The camera feed flickered. Ruby’s scythe tore through the Nevermore’s wing. Weiss moved in perfect synchrony, a flash of glyphs lighting the forest below. The others would find each other soon enough, their destinies aligning despite calibration.

Ozpin took another sip of his coffee. “She has promise.”

I knew who he meant, but I answered vaguely. “More than one of them do.”

“Indeed. But Jane... she’s the wild card.”

I let my smile curl. “Wild cards tend to win big.”

Behind me, Glynda’s breath hitched. She didn’t believe in fate. Not the way I did. But I’d let her catch up eventually.

And when she did... well, I was certain she’d find the experience unforgettable.

With a flick of my fingers, I locked in a few camera angles, selecting the feeds where the main cast’s paths would soon converge. The storm was about to begin, and I was ready to see how it would unfold.

After all, [Capturing] wasn’t just a mechanic. It was a promise.

And I always kept my promises.

Even if I couldn’t tell you everything about them.

{Blake's POV}

"That was... certainly an experience." Weiss muttered, walking beside me as we exited Professor Port's class. Her words were clipped, measured—yet the faintest hint of exasperation clung to her tone like perfume. Experience was one word for it.

Honestly, I didn’t want to sound rude, but the man was a damn chatterbox. A walking monologue, enthusiastic and unstoppable. I knew it was only the first day, but even so, I had at least expected a syllabus, a curriculum overview—something relevant to our training. Instead, I now knew far too much about Port’s youth, his battles, and the unfortunate fate of a creature called "the Terror of Vacuo," which apparently wasn't even that terrifying.

Still, it wasn’t all mind-numbing. Yang's demonstration with the boarbatusk had some flair. She’d definitely made an impression. At least someone brought energy into the room.

"Definitely." I said, leading Weiss toward the cafeteria. An hour and a half of being talked at had left me ravenous.

"That was so cool! You went hashaw-bam, then a shing-kachaw!" Ruby practically skipped beside us, hands flailing wildly as she mimed her sister’s fight with animated sound effects. Her excitement was infectious, if a bit overwhelming.

Ruby could be shy—more often than not—but when she started talking about weapons, battles, or anything remotely combat-related, she lit up like a Dust-fueled bonfire. It was endearing, really. Even if it meant we’d be hearing about shing-kachaws until bedtime.

I glanced sidelong at Weiss. Her lips were tight, her posture taut. I could see the restraint practically radiating off her. It was like she was physically holding herself back from correcting Ruby’s antics. Normally, I would’ve expected a condescending quip by now. But instead... nothing. Her eyes flicked to me, and she adjusted her expression with mechanical precision.

Interesting.

Ever since we got assigned as Team RWBY, and Ruby was named leader, I had anticipated fireworks from Weiss. The Schnee heiress, working under a clumsy, overenthusiastic girl who sometimes tripped over her own words? It sounded like a recipe for drama. But Weiss had surprised me. She was holding back, swallowing down every critical impulse, and I had the sneaking suspicion it had something to do with me.

Once inside the cafeteria, we each grabbed our food and sat at one of the quieter tables near the windows. Sunlight spilled across our trays, giving everything a too-perfect glow. Ruby and Yang were already chattering away again about the fight, their voices blending with the low hum of the dining hall.

I watched Weiss. She ate in silence, her movements stiff and automatic, like she was a machine performing a task. The girl might as well have been carved from ice.

"Weiss." I said gently, drawing her attention. She froze mid-bite, and for a moment, I was amused. But that amusement curdled fast.

She wasn’t just uptight. She was uncomfortable. Not with the food. Not with the noise. With me.

I glanced at Ruby and Yang, still lost in their own little world. Now seemed as good a time as any.

"You know," I said, keeping my tone calm and honest, "you don't have to act so stiff around me."

She blinked. Her fork hovered in the air. "Stiff? Me? What makes you say that, Blake?"

Her voice was defensive, too quick to deny, and I could feel the tension in her shoulders sharpen again.

"Weiss." I murmured, setting my food aside. I reached beside the table and gently took her hands in mine. Her eyes went wide, but she didn’t pull away. That was something.

"I'm a faunus," I said, my voice even, but sincere. "You're a Schnee. I know there’s... history. Tension. Complications. And I understand why you might be walking on eggshells around me. But you don’t have to. I’m not here to judge you, or hate you, or keep score. We're a team. That means something. It means we’ll have to rely on each other, trust each other. We can’t do that if you keep acting like you’re one misstep away from breaking something."

Her fingers twitched beneath mine. I held on, brushing my thumbs across the backs of her hands like I’d seen Zani do when she needed someone to breathe again. Weiss wasn’t breathing—she was holding it all in.

"If there’s any issue between us," I continued, "I’d rather we talk it out. Like proper adults, not ghosts circling around a grave we’re both pretending doesn’t exist. So, like I said—no more acting like you’re walking a thin line. There’s no trap waiting to spring."

Her lips parted, but no sound came out. And slowly, the tension in her spine unwound, just a fraction. She still looked wary, but not frozen. Not brittle.

"That's... forgive me if that’s—no," she said, cutting herself off. Her voice was quieter now, her words chosen with care. "I’m sorry, Blake. You’re right. I thought something would happen, that things would... escalate. And I didn’t want to be the cause of it. So I acted distant. I thought that would help. But it didn’t, did it?"

She laughed, a dry little thing that didn’t reach her eyes.

"Still," she added, squeezing my hands back, "thank you. For being honest. For saying what I was too afraid to admit. I do feel better. And like you said—if problems come up, we’ll deal with them together."

Then she smiled.

Not a forced one. Not a smirk or a sneer. A real smile. Soft and a little unsure, but genuine.

And it was... well. It was pretty damn charming.

"That. Was. Beautiful!" Ruby’s voice broke through the moment like a hammer through glass. We turned to find her beaming at us, eyes practically sparkling. She looked like she was watching a fairytale unfold.

"Uhh..." Weiss managed, sounding dazed.

Then, with absolutely no warning, Ruby shouted, "Group hug!" and launched herself over the table.

"Ack! Ruby! Stop!" Weiss yelped as Ruby collided squarely into her chest.

"Aww, let me in on that!" Yang chimed, sidling up to us with a much more graceful hug from the side. She smelled faintly of strawberries and gunpowder.

Her arm wrapped around me, and I couldn’t help but note—not for the first time—that Yang was... plush. Not quite as generous as Zani, of course, but still undeniably pleasant. The warmth of her chest pressing into my side didn’t go unnoticed.

We must’ve looked ridiculous—tangled arms, surprised laughter, Weiss flushed pink with Ruby still latched onto her like a koala. And yet...

My team was strange. Loud, chaotic, overenthusiastic. But also mine. We were becoming something more than just assigned partners. Something real. A family. Maybe a dysfunctional one—but still a family.

And one day, once Zani had her say—once the veil dropped—we’d be something else entirely.

A tighter bond. Deeper connections. Skin on skin, lips on lips. Soft moans in dark corners. Sweat, and heat, and the taste of each other lingering on our tongues. Sticky thighs and breathless laughter.

For now, I let them have this moment. I smiled as Weiss finally gave in and hugged Ruby back, awkward but sincere.

Later, though... later would be different.

We’d share more than battle tactics and meals. We’d learn each other in every way possible.

And when that day came, I’d be ready.

After all, I couldn’t lie. Not even if I tried. So when I said they were mine—I meant it.

Every. Single. Word.

Yum.

Chapter Text

{Blake's POV}

Beacon Academy was, first and foremost, a Combat School. Sure, it had the usual courses on Dust theory, Grimm taxonomy, and all that academic fluff, but those came second to one thing: training us to kill monsters. So, by design, our schedule reflected that. Every other day starting from Tuesday, we were herded into a relentless routine: a one-and-a-half-hour lecture on Basic Combat, a solid hour of Wilderness Survival, a short break, and then three brutal hours of Practical Combat Training with a small mercy of a thirty-minute breather midway. It was a grind, but that was what we signed up for.

Tuesday marked our second official day, and it rolled in like a hammer to the face. We went through the motions—class, note-taking, minor yawns from the more disinterested, and Professor Goodwitch’s very particular brand of stern enthusiasm. She was our lead instructor for the lectures, a woman of poise, precision, and power that demanded respect. But Practical Combat Training was a different beast entirely. For that, we had an assistant joining in—someone whose identity had remained a mystery.

"Who could it be? I checked the staff records twice, but there were no mentions of any assistant combat instructor." Weiss muttered beside me, her voice laced with irritation. She didn’t like unknowns; she needed everything compartmentalized, catalogued, and predictable.

"Who gives a damn? I just wanna throw hands already!" Yang chimed in, grinning as she cracked her knuckles. Classic Yang—brash, fiery, impulsive. Not dumb by any means, but she certainly chose fists before facts nine out of ten times.

"Ohhh! I can't wait to see everyone's weapons in action! They're all so cool!" Ruby bounced lightly on her heels, eyes sparkling with genuine excitement. There was something disarmingly sincere about her—an innocence I worried would shatter far too quickly in this place. Though, admittedly, the idea of being the one to corrupt that sweetness was tempting in its own deliciously wrong way.

"Alright! Everyone, find a seat before I begin making an announcement!" Professor Goodwitch’s voice sliced through the murmur of the class like a blade. Sharp. Commanding. No one dared disobey. We filed into the nearest available seats, which ended up placing us beside Team JNPR.

"Hi, guys! Are you excited?! 'Cause I am! I wanna punch someone's throat in!" Nora declared, her voice far too cheerful for such violent intentions.

I couldn't help the small chuckle that escaped me. "Endearing." I murmured under my breath. Nora was chaos in a bottle—Yang, but more spontaneous and arguably less restrained.

"Nora, please. Sit down. We don't need another scolding from Professor Goodwitch," Rin said, calm as ever, her eyes subtly scanning the room like a silent guardian. I hadn’t known her long, but already I could tell she had steel under that serenity. Anger wasn’t her default, but if someone hurt Nora, I had a feeling she’d tear them apart without hesitation.

They were so painfully oblivious to the charged looks and occasional lingering touches. I’d wager Lien that everyone else noticed it but them.

"Well, I for one am curious to see how our classmates perform." Pyrrha added with a warm, composed smile. Her reputation as the 'Invincible Girl' preceded her, and yet she didn’t carry it like a crown—more like a burden she wore with quiet dignity.

"I just hope Professor Goodwitch doesn’t call on me first..." And then there was Jane Arc. All nerves and awkward energy, eyes darting like a startled doe's. I couldn’t understand how she made it through initiation, let alone why Ozpin named her leader. She didn’t have the presence, nor the strength—or so it seemed. But appearances can be deceiving, and if the Headmaster saw something, I wouldn’t dismiss it so easily.

"Good! Now that everyone's seated," Goodwitch began, her tone brokering no nonsense, "I would like to announce that, for the duration of Practical Combat Training, it will be headed by the newest addition to Beacon's staff, Miss Zani Waves."

The silence that followed was thick, every eye snapping to the stage. My jaw fell—but unlike the others, mine wasn't from her beauty alone.

She walked out like a storm dressed in a suit. Pale skin kissed with faint lavender undertones, eyes sharp with layered knowing, hips swaying with a confidence that said she'd fought gods and came out the victor. Her gaze locked with mine for a second longer than coincidence allowed, lips tugging into a smirk like she knew every sin I’d thought about committing—and approved.

"Good afternoon, everyone," she said, voice silky but firm. "I am Zani Waves, Miss Goodwitch's assistant Combat Instructor and Lieutenant of the White Fang. From this point on, I’ll be personally training you to make sure you can fight Grimm without breaking a sweat. Happy to be here!"

The room exploded in hushed whispers. White Fang? Here? At Beacon? But all I could think about was the curve of her mouth and the promise her eyes carried. She was teasing me.

I made a vow, then and there. I was going to sneak out of my dorm tonight. Because if I didn’t get a good dicking from Zani soon, I might actually go insane.

Professor Goodwitch’s reaction, though subtle, was telling. Her lips tightened, her posture straightened just a little more than usual. There was history there—undeniable tension that hung between them like a suspended blade. Zani’s smirk deepened when she passed Glynda, her fingers grazing the woman’s clipboard ever-so-lightly as she passed. A taunt. A memory.

"Miss Waves will be assessing each of you personally," Glynda continued, her voice clipped and distant. "Do try to impress her. Or at the very least, don’t embarrass yourselves."

Zani’s eyes scanned the room again, lingering on me once more. I met her gaze head-on, letting my expression remain impassive.

"Let’s see what you’ve all got." she purred, then turned sharply on her heel and walked toward the combat circle, boots clicking against the stone.

My thoughts were a mess. There was too much unsaid in that glance. Too many implications. And it didn’t help that every time I tried to focus on our team’s next move, my mind flicked back to that smirk.

"She's hot." Yang whispered beside me, clearly not trying to be subtle.

"No arguments there." I murmured, arms crossed. From the corner of my eye, I caught Weiss glancing at me, her brows furrowed in suspicion.

"You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Or maybe an ex."

"Hmph. Funny."

If they knew that Zani was my girlfriend, what would they say? Would the students shout for favoritism?

Ruby tugged on my sleeve. "Hey, Blake? You okay?"

I looked at her—wide eyes, full of concern and curiosity. She was too close. Too warm. Too soft.

"Fine." I said, my voice low. "Just... focused." I can't let them know that Zani's mere presence made me horny, especially because it has been two days since we've last been together.

But her touch lingered a beat too long, and I caught the way her cheeks turned a faint pink as she pulled back. Then Yang pressed in a little closer too, her thigh brushing mine beneath the bench, her smirk lazy and amused.

"Focused on the new instructor, huh?"

I said nothing, but Weiss rolled her eyes. "You're all insufferable."

She didn’t deny it, though.

This was going to be a very long semester.

And I couldn’t wait. Especially with Zani now here.

{Glynda's POV}

Zani was a strange individual. No history, no paper trail, no digital footprint to speak of. It was like she had appeared out of thin air, and the only records we had were those from her admittedly short stint in the White Fang. And yet, in that fleeting window of time—barely three months—she’d managed something no one else had: she turned that fractured, bitter organization into something with direction. Something that made the council pause and reconsider its designation of them. She didn’t soften them, no, but she gave them clarity. Focus. Even among terrorists, she’d become a figure worth noting.

Naturally, Ozpin and I were suspicious. We always were when someone shook the established order. Our work required it—caution, restraint, scrutiny. But there was something about her that didn’t align with Salem’s usual puppets. Her methods weren’t erratic or chaotic. They were too intricate, too refined. If she was under Salem’s thumb, she’d be the best damn actress we’d ever seen. We watched, waited, probed.

Eventually, we had to concede the point: Zani wasn’t an agent. Or at least, not one of hers. We still didn’t know who or what had shaped her, but there was no denying her impact. With no past and no loyalties—at least none we could identify—she was a wild card. But one we couldn’t ignore. And so, we brought her into our fold. Loosely. Cautiously.

She was strong. Impossibly so. I’d seen her take on twenty Grimm solo, not even break a sweat, and still have enough energy left to verbally eviscerate a room full of bureaucrats. But raw power isn’t what gets you into Ozpin’s inner circle. Power without loyalty is just a liability. So, he asked me to keep an eye on her. Not spy, exactly. Observe. Learn. Understand.

And over the past several days, I’ve learned this: Zani is dangerous. Not just because of her strength, though that’s impressive. No, she’s dangerous because she knows how to use every part of herself as a weapon. Her voice, her presence, her words. She’s magnetic in a way that makes people lean in just a little too far before they realize they’ve already given something away.

She'd managed to get the Vale Council to adjust faunus wages within a day of setting foot in the city. That should have set off more alarms. That kind of success? Unheard of. But she did it not by force—no, she did it by simply walking into the room, speaking plainly, and leaving no room for objection. Every word out of her mouth had weight. Precision. Like she was telling a story and the truth at the same time.

And gods, the way she looked at me. It was never overt. Never crude. A lingering glance here. A gentle brush of fingers against my hand as she passed documents. A low, musical hum in her throat when I corrected her paperwork, like she enjoyed being told off. Subtle. Maddening.

I hated how it was working. How easily she slid past my defenses. I was used to attention. My beauty wasn't exactly a secret—I've heard enough whispers from students and colleagues alike. But romance? That was a luxury I couldn’t afford. Between Beacon, my responsibilities, and the quiet war we waged from the shadows, there was never time. Never space.

But Zani. She was like a fucking storm.

You don’t ignore a storm. You brace for it. Pray you’re still standing when it passes.

"Alright. First up, I will be gauging your individual abilities. So, Mister... Adon. Please, come down to the arena."

The students looked confused. Murmuring swept through the stands. Second day at Beacon and already being tossed into combat? They shouldn’t have been surprised. We didn’t baby them here. Still, this was extreme, even by our standards.

Even I wouldn’t have done what she was planning: personally sparring with each student to assess their combat style. It was too time-consuming. Inefficient. But then, Zani rarely operated within the bounds of what was "normal." If her method worked, we wouldn't deny its effectiveness. But it wasn’t sustainable. Or so I thought.

"Alright, give me everything you’ve got," Zani said, her voice light, casual, like she wasn’t about to fight 64 students in three and a half hours. "Once your Aura hits red, we’ll move on."

I coughed into my hand and stepped aside, taking my place by the arena’s edge.

"Now, on my signal... Begin!"

I glanced between her and Adon. He looked nervous, as he should. Zani, on the other hand, was utterly composed. Relaxed. Like this was just another afternoon stroll.

Arlon hesitated, but finally charged. He swung wide, a heavy cleaver slicing through the air. Zani didn’t flinch. She parried with a single movement—effortless—and flicked his chest with a finger.

His Aura dropped by 50%.

There were gasps from the students. From the staff. Even I stiffened. That was absurd. The level of control needed to do that without causing real harm...

Arlon stumbled back, stunned.

Zani tilted her head, apologetic. "Huh. You were weaker than expected. Sorry about that. I’ll try to tone it down."

He wasn’t grateful. He was furious. A mistake. A stupid mistake. You don’t get angry at someone who can half your Aura with a finger.

But instead of ending it, Zani dodged his next wild flurry of attacks, giving him advice mid-combat. It was surreal—watching her correct his footwork while avoiding his blows like it was a dance she’d done a thousand times. She was toying with him, but not cruelly. She was studying.

And I was studying her.

She was incredible. Impossibly calm. In control of everything—her strikes, her tone, her presence. It was hard not to watch her. Hard not to admire the grace behind every motion.

Finally, she stepped in, flicked Adon’s forehead. His Aura dipped into the red immediately, and the match was called. He staggered off, scowling.

"Well, next up is... Miss Alet. Please come down to the arena."

No time to rest. No time to recover. Zani was already moving to the next fight like she hadn’t just completely dismantled a student.

Her breathing hadn’t even changed.

I sighed, rubbing my temple. The students looked shaken, but not broken. I hoped they wouldn’t let Zani’s strength discourage them. I’d seen what that kind of discouragement could do. But something told me she knew exactly how far to push.

And then, she glanced at me.

Just for a moment. Our eyes met. There was that smile again—knowing, sly, like she was holding a secret just behind her lips. Not a smirk. Not smug. Inviting.

I looked away too quickly. Too harshly. Damn her.

She hadn’t said anything about me. Not directly. Not openly. But her every word around me was chosen like a riddle. Never false, always veiled. Even when she flirted, it felt like a dare—like she was challenging me to parse the deeper meaning behind each tease.

And the worst part?

I wanted to.

Every time she called me “Professor Goodwitch” with that soft, lilting cadence, I had to resist the urge to correct her. To ask her to say my name again—properly. Intimately. It was maddening. I wasn’t some lovesick student. I was Glynda Fucking Goodwitch, dammit.

And yet...

Every brush of her arm against mine. Every sideways glance. Every warm, amused hum as she walked away, leaving me with just the ghost of her perfume...

She was getting under my skin.

She knew it.

And worst of all, I let her.

Zani might not have had a past, but whatever shaped her made her terrifyingly good at reading people. At seducing them without ever once uttering a lie. Her words danced like wind-blown silk, always true—but never what you expected. She had that kind of power. Subtle. Dangerous.

And it was working.

"Next," she called again, as Miss Aret took her position, weapons drawn. The students shifted, murmuring anew, nervous and eager in equal measure.

I stayed quiet, watching.

Observing.

And trying desperately not to let her know just how badly she was winning this little game between us.

Because if I showed even a sliver of weakness, she’d pounce.

And gods help me, I wasn’t sure if I’d stop her.

{Blake's POV}

"I still feel sorry about Jane." Yang commented, her voice tinged with lingering sympathy. She was likely recalling Jane's dismal performance earlier during the match against Zani—well, Professor Zani now. I briefly wondered if she'd be interested in me calling her "Professor" while she fucked me senseless. Probably. I'd find out tonight either way.

Unlike the rest of the students who, even in defeat, had managed to show a modicum of skill against Zani—failing to dent her Aura but at least making an attempt—Jane had been completely hopeless. Like a baby doe wobbling through a battlefield, she could barely keep her footing, much less land a hit. No formal training, no reflexes, just raw panic and flailing. It was honestly an embarrassment. There were thousands who'd kill for a shot at Beacon and here was Jane, wasting oxygen and time.

Still, I reminded myself to defer to Headmaster Ozpin's wisdom—again. I'd planned to report Jane's abysmal performance, but seeing Zani here changed things. If Jane had even a sliver of potential, Zani would drag it out of her. That woman could turn any prey into a predator. The fact that she'd taken the role of assistant Combat Instructor this year was, in itself, a miracle. I needed to talk to her about that. I'd joked about her joining Beacon during our last training session. I hadn’t expected her to actually go through with it. Was it because of me? Or did she have some hidden agenda?

"It was certainly a poor showing." Weiss replied coolly, her arms folded, "but I noticed that Professor Waves was invested in trying to teach her. Unlike most who scoffed at her corrections mid-combat, Jane actually paid attention—and showed marginal improvement."

I nodded, giving Weiss a small, appreciative glance. That was a point in Jane's favor. Zani’s style wasn’t exactly gentle; her words were cutting, direct, and designed to slice ego like paper. Most took it as mockery. Jane? She actually listened. Still, a few minutes of humility didn’t make her a warrior.

Speaking of Weiss, I was surprised she hadn’t said more about Zani. I'd been keeping my ties to the White Fang under wraps, planning to ease my team into the truth. I half-expected Weiss to blow a fuse when Zani—who had proudly declared herself a Lieutenant in the White Fang—appeared. But she hadn’t. She just gave Zani a hard glare before recomposing herself.

"Miss Belladonna~, please come down to the stage~."

I shivered as Zani’s voice echoed across the room. It wrapped around me like silk and heat, her tone far more playful than when she'd called out the others. A subtle tease. It wasn’t lost on me.

"Welp. Good luck, Blake! Go and represent Team RWBY!" Ruby beamed, her enthusiasm bordering on infectious. Yang, though, just gave me a sad, knowing smile—like she knew I was marching straight into my own sexy demise.

I couldn't help but smirk. They didn’t know yet. I hadn’t told them that Zani was my lover. I’d wanted to, originally. But that was before I found out she’d be teaching us. That changed things. Now, I had to be careful—not for my sake, but for hers. If word got out that she was dating a student, she’d catch heat. Beacon was tolerant, but not blind.

Still, I planned to tell them eventually. Quietly. In private. After I'd built enough trust. For now, Zani was just another professor, and I was just another student.

I stepped into the arena. Zani was already there, lounging with an effortless grace, her eyes locked onto me with a hungry smile. A smirk that said she knew every inch of me—inside and out—and was already planning how she’d fuck me after class.

"Are the both of you ready?" Professor Goodwitch asked, stepping between us. My eyes lingered on her for a moment. I noticed how her gaze lingered on Zani as well—just a second too long. The barest hint of curiosity. No, not curiosity—interest.

Of course she was. Zani exuded power and danger like perfume. Add in the sultry confidence, those tight combat clothes, and her casual command of the battlefield? Yeah, even Glynda Goodwitch wasn’t immune. Not that I blamed her.

Professor Goodwitch was hot. Like, capital-H HOT. Mature, fierce, with curves that could kill and a glare that could freeze lava. Her tits alone deserved a pedestal. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t fantasize about her at least twice a week, or rather, a day. Watching her stare at Zani, I couldn’t help but grin internally.

"Then... begin."

I didn’t wait for the dust to settle. No hesitation. I darted toward Zani, closing the distance fast. I already knew her preferred style—boxing, footwork, brute force. I wasn’t going to play her game.

I moved fast, darting in and out of her range, circling her, looking for any hint of an opening. Zani didn’t move. She just stood there, eyes tracking me, amused. That made it harder. The calm predator, letting me dance, waiting for the exact second to strike.

Then, I made my move.

Using the ribbons of Gambol Shroud, I sent them spiraling around her. With a sharp pull, they tightened, appearing to trap her in a coil of black fabric. I grinned.

She let it happen. I could tell. She stood still, amused, like a cat humoring a mouse. But she didn’t know everything.

Just before arriving at Beacon, I’d modified Gambol Shroud’s ribbons to conduct Dust. With a flick of the trigger, they began to glow red—Fire Dust activated. Heat radiated through the strands.

Zani raised a single brow. That was all. No surprise. No fear. Just mild interest. Alarm bells rang in my head.

Before the heat could fully trigger, Zani grabbed the ribbons. I gasped. Shit.

I’d forgotten how strong she was. Stronger than anyone I knew.

I released Gambol Shroud just in time to avoid being pulled in, the ribbons slackening right as the fire surged through them. It was a neat trick—but it wasn’t enough.

"Nice try, Sweetie~." Zani purred, her voice silk and smoke.

I pouted. "Says you. I almost had you."

I didn’t let it end there. Drawing my sheath and flipping it into blade mode, I charged. I knew I couldn’t beat her, but if I could even get her Aura down by 10%, it would be a win in my book.

Speed was my strength. Stealth too—but on this open battlefield, that was useless. So I focused on speed. Flickering from angle to angle, trying to overwhelm her. Zani kept up, eyes sharp, her body moving with perfect rhythm. It was like fighting a mirror that predicted your every move.

But finally, I landed a nick. Barely a scratch, but still—contact. I pressed harder, pouring everything I had into speed, into unpredictability. Zani met every blow, parried every angle. She was relentless, and I knew the hits I landed were more luck than skill.

"And stop! Miss Belladonna’s Aura has reached the red!"

I froze, glancing at the screen. Sure enough—my Aura had drained into the red. I hadn’t even noticed. I’d burned through it trying to outpace her.

I sighed, shoulders dropping. "Tch. I barely dented you."

Zani stepped forward, her heat already crawling over my skin. "Good job, Sweetie~." she said, her voice low and possessive.

"Your Aura’s barely at 8%. And it’s already refilling."

"And yet," she leaned close, letting me breathe her in, "you’re the only one today who made me move."

Before I could react, her lips crashed into mine. Her tongue was already inside, commanding, claiming. My body responded before my brain could even catch up. I melted into her, arms winding around her waist as murmurs exploded in the crowd.

We finally broke apart, lips red and tingling. I blinked, stunned.

"Are you sure this is okay?" I whispered.

Zani smirked, brushing my cheek. "Oh, don’t worry~. I just needed to make sure everyone knew you were mine."

I shivered at her words. That possessive growl, that certainty—I was already aching for her. I didn’t care what anyone said.

Yeah, I was sneaking out tonight. I needed her.

Needed my Zani to ruin me all over again.

And maybe... I'd finally tell my team everything.

But only after she fucks me senseless. It has been two days since I had her dick in my, leaving trails of hickies everywhere she went. I needed that. I needed it so badly.

Chapter Text

{Weiss POV}

I knew of Zani Waves. How could I not? It would be impossible not to, especially with how often I kept myself informed on White Fang affairs. I had to. They had caused me too much pain, too many losses over the years to turn a blind eye. That meant I knew exactly who Blake Belladonna was, too. She wasn’t just a faunus. She had was one of them. A member of the White Fang. A soldier of that organization that had haunted my life.

At first, I didn’t know how to feel about her. Should I confront her? Push her away? Try to get under her skin and make her leave? Honestly, if it had been just a few months ago, I probably would’ve done just that. I wasn’t naive anymore, not about my... father. He could try to sugarcoat his sins in honeyed words all he wanted, but I wasn’t so easily fooled. He was the reason the White Fang had become what it was. He was the root of the rot. Their brutality wasn’t born in a vacuum. The faunus were already being treated like trash in society, and what did Father do? He exploited that pain. He used them. Forced them into labor, paid them less than scraps, and treated them as though they were beneath even the status of slaves.

So yes, the White Fang had killed. They had taken lives. They had stained my family in blood, and I mourned for every cousin who didn’t come home, every innocent life stolen in their crusade. But... I understood, even if I didn’t want to. They were lashing out. Their rage was a fire forged by decades of silence, of being ignored and stepped on. Their peaceful protests had fallen on deaf ears, and all they had left was violence.

Still, things had begun to change. The White Fang wasn’t the same as it once was. There were still extremists, still those who clung to the pain and chose to strike out, but overall... they were evolving. From what I could glean—Menagerie was notoriously hard to gain information from, after all—the organization had started to turn inward, focusing on building up their own communities rather than tearing ours down. I wouldn’t have known even that much if not for Father’s loose lips. He liked to rant about his enemies. It was one of his many fatal flaws. And one of the names that came up most frequently in his recent tirades? Zani Waves.

Lieutenant. Leader. Face of the new White Fang. She was their symbol of change, their rebranding effort, their rising star. The one who had supposedly thrown Adam Taurus into a cell and pinned the bloodshed on him. I wasn’t fully convinced—how convenient, blaming it all on one man—but... I allowed myself to focus on the silver lining. The White Fang wasn’t attacking SDC facilities anymore. They were building homes. Schools. Hospitals.

The contradiction ached within me. I hadn’t forgotten what they’d done. I never would. The wounds were too deep, the scars too fresh. But I also couldn’t ignore the suffering my father had caused in turn. So many faunus, used and discarded. I couldn’t just pretend that wasn’t real.

That’s why I came to Beacon. To step away from his shadow. To forge my own path. To prepare for the day I would finally stand against him.

So when Blake and I became teammates, I kept my distance at first, bristling with suspicion. But she didn’t lash out. She didn’t blame me. She simply... existed. Quietly. Gently. And then she began offering comfort. Advice. She listened. And as she once said, we would work through our grievances like adults.

Which brings me to now.

“Sheesh. Blake, why didn’t you tell us the hot teacher was already claimed? You definitely snuffed out all hope of me getting a chance with her~.”

Yang’s voice was teasing, playfully exasperated as she slid into her seat beside us. Blake, ever the picture of calm annoyance, let out a huff as she returned from speaking with our newly-appointed Professor.

I hadn’t expected it. The relationship. Blake and Zani. It hadn’t even crossed my mind. I certainly didn’t expect it to be announced so... publicly. I could still feel the phantom heat of their earlier kiss, so intense and raw that it left my cheeks burning.

“Well, you could certainly try your luck if you want to,” Blake responded, her voice silk-wrapped steel. “Zani and I aren’t exclusive. In fact, she already has another woman, and she’s courting a third.”

That made my brow shoot up.

Wait. What?

So not only was our professor openly dating Blake, but she was in a full-on harem situation?

It wasn’t unheard of—especially with the way people fawned over strong, dominant figures—but it was another thing entirely to have it so... close. Real. Tangible. In front of me.

“Shit, for real? You’re fine with that?” Yang asked, her grin replaced with genuine surprise.

Blake’s lips curled into a smirk that didn’t quite match the reserved girl we’d gotten to know in the past few days. There was something hungrier about it, something darker, deeper.

“Yes, Yang. I’m completely serious. I have no qualms about it.” Her amber eyes slid across our group with predatory grace, settling briefly on each of us. “In fact, I wouldn’t mind getting a chance at you...”

Her words dripped from her lips like honey, thick with innuendo. And then she added, voice a velvet murmur:

“...at all of you.”

Her gaze landed on me, and I swore my breath caught in my throat. I looked away quickly, too quickly, cheeks aflame. Only to find my eyes locking with Professor Zani’s.

Oh no.

She was watching me. Like a hawk. Like a cat who’d cornered a particularly tasty mouse. Her eyes gleamed—not just with amusement, but with something deeper. Possessive. Calculating. And something else I couldn’t name without blushing even harder.

I wrenched my gaze away, mentally begging the gods to grant me the strength to survive this semester without combusting.

The worst part? A treacherous little part of me... didn’t mind it.

Zani Waves was captivating, in a dangerous, overwhelming kind of way. Every word she spoke had this haunting rhythm to it. Like she was dancing around the truth but never quite lying. Her voice, low and rich, settled into your bones. You never quite caught her saying something outright, but she had this way of making you believe.

She never said she loved Blake. But she looked at her with such reverence, such warmth, that you’d never doubt it. She never said what her endgame was, what she wanted from us, just wanting to train us, but I could feel it—coiling in the air like smoke.

There was tension between them. Zani and Blake. An undercurrent of something electric. Blake’s hand would linger too long on Zani’s shoulder. Zani’s fingers would brush Blake’s hip with a knowing touch. They moved like two dancers in perfect sync, each step planned and intimate.

And then there was the way Zani looked at me.

I wasn’t used to being looked at like that. Not as Schnee. Not as an heiress. As prey. As something worth chasing.

She never touched me—not really. But her gaze... it lingered. When she addressed me, her words were always laced with double meanings.

Blake had caught the moment too. Her eyes had narrowed slightly—not in jealousy, but something closer to... intrigue. Possessiveness. Invitation?

This wasn’t just some professor/student scandal. It felt like a game. A carefully-laid web.

And the worst part? I didn’t know if I wanted to run from it... or dive right in.

I shook the thought off as best I could, burying my face in my hands.

"Goddess preserve me." I muttered under my breath.

Ruby leaned closer, ever the innocent one, her silver eyes wide with curiosity. "Weiss? You okay? You look really flushed."

I waved her off with a groan. "I’m fine. Just... heat."

Blake chuckled softly beside me, her tone far too amused. “You’ll get used to it. Eventually.”

Zani’s voice cut in smoothly from across the room, rich with that same musical cadence.

"Do let me know if the temperature becomes unbearable, Miss Schnee. I wouldn’t want you to melt."

I did not, under any circumstance, whimper.

Blake’s smirk widened, and Yang looked between us like she’d just discovered her new favorite drama.

Gods help me. This semester was going to kill me.

And a part of me was already welcoming it.

{Zani's POV} 

Tapping my fingers rhythmically on the polished wood of my desk, I allowed the slow cadence to echo the pattern of my thoughts. Each tap marked another step in my quiet conquest, each pause a moment to reflect on the next phase of my plan. The White Fang, at least the Vale branch, had been pliant—more than I anticipated. Their aggression, their desperation, their yearning for purpose... it made them malleable in all the right ways. One by one, they had begun to shift into my [Devotees], loyal and utterly convinced of the cause I presented, even if they didn’t grasp its full scope. And that was perfectly fine. They didn’t need to understand—they only needed to believe.

Meanwhile, my efforts in [Capturing] the civilians of Vale were proving fruitful, if slow. Subtlety was a virtue, after all. Unlike Menagerie, where the law was more a suggestion than a rule and where territory was easily claimed by staking a flag in the dirt, Vale was bound in red tape. Here, land meant something. Property had paper, and those papers had seals, signatures, and long chains of bureaucratic nonsense attached to them. It was tedious, but not insurmountable.

Creating something new from the ground up wasn’t an option—not without catching the attention of those I wasn’t ready to deal with yet. That meant playing the game. That meant working through the Council, smiling sweetly while stabbing politically where it hurt. I could convince them, of course. My tongue, bound though it was by my patron’s truth, was not without its charm. I couldn't lie, but that didn’t mean I had to tell the whole truth. There was always a way to phrase things just so, a way to make them hear what they wanted to hear. It made negotiations... intoxicating.

Still, the process was slow, and I didn't have time to be patient. Fortunately, I didn’t need to rely solely on paperwork and politics. Many of the civilians I’d already turned into [Devotees] owned businesses—some modest, some thriving—and through them, I had inroads. A whispered promise here, a suggestive glance there, and it wasn’t long before I had control. Not always direct ownership, not at first, but influence. I could install my people—more specifically, faunus workers—into these establishments under the guise of "inclusion" and "diversity initiatives." It was all so very progressive on paper.

But this was only one front.

The White Fang still needed work. While their ideology gave them fire, their technique left something to be desired. Raw fury could only take you so far. If I was going to use them effectively—for money, for status, for influence—they needed refinement. Vale was saturated with missions: Grimm exterminations, village defenses, escort contracts. There was money to be made and reputation to be built.

I needed soldiers, not rabid dogs.

Unfortunately, the time I could spend whipping them into shape had taken a significant hit since I accepted my new position at Beacon Academy—as the assistant Combat Professor. It had been a strategic move. Not only did it grant me access to the main stage of the story, but it put me in close proximity to Ozpin, the cryptic spider at the center of Vale’s web. I didn’t remember the early seasons of RWBY all that clearly anymore. My past-life knowledge grew more fragmented the further I tried to peer into the future. Beyond Season 3, it all turned into static, which suited me just fine.

After all, I always preferred making my own path.

Getting into Ozpin’s circle was critical. Gaining his trust, being close when he made moves—this was the sort of leverage I needed. To that end, I performed my duties flawlessly. I instructed students with patience and insight, never raising my voice, never letting on how little I actually remembered about them. And then there was the coffee.

[Faerie Feast] made that part simple. A custom blend, laced with a little something extra—nothing harmful, nothing that would raise suspicion, just enough to hook him on the taste, the experience, the comfort. He didn’t know he was being ensnared. That made it all the more perfect.

Then there was Glynda.

Gorgeous, composed, fiercely principled. She was ice and elegance bundled up in tailored suits and tightly wound restraint. Seducing her was both a challenge and a delight. I could never tell her I wanted her outright—not because I couldn’t, but because that would ruin the game. No, I preferred implication. A compliment with double meaning. A touch that lingered just long enough to be noticed. A glance that sparked questions she couldn’t voice.

Three days. That was all the true time I’d spent with her, and already I felt the tension rise each time we shared space. My [Traits] made sure of it. My [Talents] opened doors. My [Lures] caught her attention. And with each passing day, I slipped further into her thoughts. I saw it in the way her eyes lingered on me when she thought I wasn’t looking. The way her lips pressed tighter when I made a teasing comment. The way her voice faltered, ever so slightly, when I stood just a little too close.

She was falling. Slowly, but surely.

Turning my attention away from Beacon, I let my gaze drift toward the figure hunched over paperwork across the room—Kali. The exotic sharpness of her features paired with the soft maturity of age made her a sight to behold, even now. She was buried in the stack of documents I’d collected from the various businesses newly under my control, her brow furrowed in concentration. She hadn't heard me move. I made sure of that.

With the silent grace I had perfected over over the course of my time in this world, I began to prowl toward her. Each step was deliberate, a predator circling its prey not with violence, but with anticipation. My scent—sweet, floral, intoxicating—drifted ahead of me like a tide. She didn’t see me. She didn’t need to.

She smelled me.

Kali tensed, shoulders stiffening, breath hitching. By the time my hand brushed her shoulder, she was already trembling, a shiver rolling through her like thunder. I leaned down, close enough for my breath to touch her ear, and whispered with a smile in my voice, "You’ve been working so hard for me, darling. I think you deserve a break."

She didn’t respond. She couldn’t. Her body spoke in her place—leaning subtly into my touch, eyes fluttering closed, lips parted in a silent gasp. I held her there, savoring the electric tension coiled tight between us, the way power and desire danced in tandem.

Being an agent of an interdimensional slave trading company had its perks.

I knew how to take what I wanted, and more importantly, I knew how to make others want to give it to me.

Kali was no exception.

She was strong. Fierce. But she was tired. And I offered her something no one else could—purpose, direction, and a future. Not just for her, but for her people. In return, all I had to do was press a little deeper each day. Let her catch a glimpse of the monster wrapped in silk and perfume. Let her feel the danger, the thrill. And soon, she'd be mine in more than name.

The room grew quiet again, the only sound the scratch of Kali’s pen and the faint rustle of pages. I returned to my desk, the phantom of my touch still lingering on her skin. I didn’t need to say more. The groundwork was laid. All things worth having took time, and I was nothing if not patient when it counted.

Back at Beacon, the students were starting to murmur about me. Some admired my skill. Others were intimidated. A few dared to flirt. None succeeded.

Except, perhaps, Glynda.

She was getting bolder now. A question asked with a lilt of curiosity. An accidental brush of her hand. Her control was cracking, and every time it did, I was there to catch it, to smile, to offer her an out laced with temptation.

She didn’t know it yet, but she was already mine, too.

And soon, so would Vale.

The plan was in motion. My [Devotees] grew in number. My influence spread like creeping vines, subtle and unstoppable. The Council would bend. The Fang would sharpen. Ozpin would trust. Glynda would fall.

And Kali... Kali would break, beautifully.

My fingers tapped the desk again, this time with certainty. The rhythm was faster now. Anticipation thrummed through me.

Everything was falling into place.

{Kali's POV}

My life back in the White Fang was far more peaceful than I ever expected it to be. Sure, the mornings always began with the roar of voices echoing through the compound as the members saluted our flag. There was the ever-present chatter in the corridors—stories being exchanged, jokes thrown back and forth, arguments flaring and dying like sparks in the wind. From the training hall, the unmistakable sound of metal clashing against metal rang out, a rhythm we had all grown used to. Despite all that, there was... peace. A calm nestled deep beneath the structured chaos. It was the kind of peace that came with purpose, with structure, and perhaps, with the feeling of finally belonging somewhere again.

When I first returned, I expected tension, turmoil, maybe even remnants of the wildness that used to haunt the White Fang. But Sienna and Zani—they ran a tight ship. Sienna always had a commanding presence, but Zani... she had something else, something more elusive. She didn’t just demand respect—she inspired it, and perhaps more dangerously, she inspired desire. They disciplined where needed and fostered camaraderie in a way I hadn’t seen before. What was once a collective of enraged, disjointed individuals had become a unified, militant organization with a sense of pride. As demeaning as the old comparisons were, the White Fang had once acted like rabid animals. Now? We were sharp, focused predators. Strategic. Controlled.

The cause hadn't changed, but our methods had. No longer was it just about protest or retaliation. We were building something sustainable, something that might actually change the world for the betterment of our people. We weren't simply clawing for our rights anymore; we were creating a future where Faunus could rise, unbound by the chains that had held us down for so long. That transformation, that progress, was due to two people—Sienna and Zani. Their partnership brought about a clarity the White Fang had lacked for years.

But for all that they achieved together, it was Zani who stood out in my thoughts, lingering there more and more with each passing day. She wasn’t just Sienna’s second-in-command; she was... luminous. She moved through the compound like a storm contained in silk—every motion deliberate, every word weighed, though never dishonest. There was something oddly compelling about how she spoke. She had a way of phrasing things, of twisting truths until they glittered but never broke. Her voice—sharp when she needed it to be, soft when you least expected it—left goosebumps on my skin.

I could no longer deny it. Somewhere along the line, I had fallen for her. Zani, my daughter’s lover, Blake’s companion and Sienna’s beloved. I should’ve been consumed by guilt—guilt for coveting someone so intimately tied to my family, guilt for feeling this way after everything that had happened. After Blake left for the White Fang. After the long nights of silence between Ghira and me. After the divorce that left more scars than either of us would ever admit.

But guilt had a funny way of dulling in the face of raw, undeniable desire. And Zani? She was the very embodiment of desire—strong, principled, and dangerously beautiful. She didn’t hide who she was, not ever. There was no pretense in her touch, no falsehood in her gaze. Every glance she gave me lingered a second too long, every hand on my shoulder during drills burned into my skin. The way she laughed—not loud, but warm, velvety—made something flutter low in my stomach.

And the way she looked at me...

It was subtle, but I noticed it. Her eyes sometimes drifted to me when she thought I wasn’t paying attention. Her words, though never overt, always danced on the edge of suggestion. It was maddening, that careful line she walked—neither advancing nor retreating. Just... existing in that in-between, that delicious tension. Like she was waiting for something. Perhaps waiting for me.

And then there were Blake’s words. Before she left, she’d said things that had confused me at the time. Cryptic comments, playful teases about Zani, about me, things I brushed off. But now, in hindsight, they weren't so cryptic. Blake had known. Somehow, she had seen this coming long before I did. She had seen how my eyes followed Zani in the way a starving woman might eye a feast. And she had given me her blessing, in her own way.

It should’ve shocked me more than it did, knowing my daughter would be so... open, so accepting. Instead, it grounded me. Made everything click into place. I could still hear her voice, flippant and light, but laced with understanding. And it wasn't just that. The thin walls of our base offered little privacy. Night after night, I would hear Zani and Sienna together. The sounds—they haunted me. The soft moans, the whispered words, the unmistakable rhythm of pleasure drawn out far too long for sanity. It left me aching. And yes, I indulged. I wasn't ashamed to admit it. Not anymore.

Those moments were the catalyst. They awakened something in me that had long been buried beneath duty and motherhood and years of being unloved. Ghira had neglected me emotionally for so long that I had forgotten what it was like to feel truly wanted. Zani reminded me. Not with grand declarations, but in the way her fingers brushed against mine when handing me a datapad. The way her voice dipped when she addressed me directly. The almost imperceptible smirk when she caught me looking.

So I spoke with Sienna. I had to. I respected her too much not to. It was awkward, as you might expect—me confessing that I had feelings for her partner—but Sienna surprised me. She had always been pragmatic, but I didn’t anticipate the... amusement. The acceptance. She asked me one thing: was I serious? I told her yes. And she simply nodded.

"Then do not half-ass it, Kali. If you go after her, do it properly. She deserves that much."

That conversation still echoed in my mind.

Zani, with her blood red eyes and voice like sin, deserved everything done properly.

Tonight, I would speak to her. I had to. I had put it off long enough. My heart still bore the bruises of the past, but it hadn’t stopped beating. It hadn’t stopped feeling. It hadn't stopped wanting.

And Zani... she had been the object of my want for far too long.

Even now, I could picture her perfectly—leaning against a railing, arms crossed, smirking like she knew every secret you ever tried to keep. Her tattoos peeked out from beneath her uniform, surrounding her neck and arms, elegant lines that spoke of something older, deeper. She always said just enough to remain honest but never enough to be entirely clear. That was Zani: a woman of truths wrapped in riddles.

The way she spoke to me made my chest tighten. Even the simplest things—"You're late, again, Kali." or "Did you sleep at all last night? You look exhausted."—felt laced with something more. Something intimate. Her words were spoken simply, but they twisted in the air like poetry, like enchantments you didn’t notice until they’d already wrapped around your throat.

There were moments, rare and fleeting, where her fingers would linger just a second too long when handing me a document or adjusting my grip during training. Each touch felt like it left behind a spark, something low and smoldering in my core. She never said anything about it. Neither did I.

But those touches spoke volumes.

And tonight, I would no longer pretend I didn’t hear them.

I stood at the threshold of Zani’s quarters, heart hammering against my ribs. This was the moment. I wouldn’t let fear hold me back. I had been afraid too long—of rejection, of ruining what we had, of stepping into a future I couldn’t predict.

But Zani was worth the risk.

Even if she broke my heart, I had to know. I had to feel her words, her truths, fall upon me like rain. Even if they cut. Even if they burned.

Because nothing burned hotter than wanting someone who might want you back.

And I was already on fire.

Chapter Text

{Zani's POV}{18+}

Looking at the message on my scroll, I found myself momentarily stunned. Sienna always made time for our nightly escapades, no matter how chaotic the day had been. It was practically tradition by now—her presence a constant, her touch familiar. So, reading that she’d be sitting tonight out, choosing instead to send someone in her stead, was... unexpected. Even stranger was the twinge of disappointment that flared in my chest. I wasn’t opposed to other women sharing my bed—Blake and Sienna had often surprised me with charming additions, a variety of flavors to spice up the nights—but lately, it had been the two of us, their devotion ever since [Capturing] them a tether I’d grown fond of. Their absence tonight left a curious emptiness.

The sound of a knock pulled me from my thoughts.

“That must be the woman Sienna sent.” I muttered, rising from the bed in only my undergarments. I shrugged—she was already here, and it would be discourteous to send her away now.

Crossing the room with unhurried steps, I opened the door, fully prepared to greet a stranger. Instead, what greeted me nearly knocked the breath from my lungs.

Kali.

There she stood, framed by the doorway, cheeks tinted a beautiful crimson, her eyes darting nervously before they met mine. For a moment, silence stretched between us, pregnant with tension.

“Well~, well~, well~. What do we have here~?” I drawled, my lips curling into a slow, decadent smile.

Her blush deepened, and her lips parted in a breathy stammer. “He-um-hel-ugh—”

I let out a soft chuckle. The poor woman was flustered beyond belief, and I couldn't help but enjoy the sight. Her usually composed demeanor was unraveling, thread by thread. Gently, I took her trembling hand in mine and tugged her inside.

The door clicked shut behind her with a decisive snap as I turned the lock. My fingers still wrapped around hers, I led her toward the bed with the casual authority she seemed unable to resist.

“Kali, baby?” I murmured, placing my other hand over hers. “Breathe for me. Let the words come.”

Her chest rose and fell, a shaky inhale followed by a steady exhale. Slowly, she gathered herself. Her gaze locked onto mine, earnest and stormy with desire.

“Do you know what you do to me, Zani?”

Ah. There it was.

A smirk tugged at the corners of my mouth. I toyed with the idea of teasing her more, of playing coy, but I could see the courage it had taken her to come to me like this. She was offering herself without prompt, stepping into a space neither of us had dared to before.

So I offered her something back.

In one smooth movement, I pressed forward and nudged her onto the bed, her body falling against the plush mattress with a quiet gasp. I hovered above her, hair cascading like shadows around her flushed face.

“I do, baby~.”

She trembled beneath me, and I dipped down to trail my nose along her neck, inhaling the intoxicating mix of perfume, sweat, and anticipation. I felt her pulse quicken under my lips.

But just as I was about to lose myself in her, Kali’s hands rose and gripped my shoulders, halting me.

There was fire in her eyes, yes—but also something deeper. Something solemn.

I paused, reading her without words. She had something to say, and it mattered. I owed her the space to speak.

“You cruel, devilish, lustful woman…” she whispered, voice thick with conflicting emotions.

The corners of my mouth lifted. Praise, or a warning? Perhaps both. I remained silent, letting her pour herself into the moment.

“You come into my life like a storm. And yet... you care for me. You act like an angel when I’m breaking, then turn into the devil when I crave escape. You tempt me, consume me…”

I leaned in, brushing my lips against her cheek. “And?” I asked, voice like silk, unable to help the teasing edge.

Her gaze didn’t falter. “And I love you for it.”

Her words hit like a divine truth, piercing straight through the chaos of my mind. The way she looked at me—with love, with surrender, with burning want—shattered the last thread of restraint holding me back.

My lips crashed into hers, fierce and feverish, and she met me with equal hunger. Our mouths danced, tongues entwining in a battle neither of us wanted to win. Clothes came apart under desperate fingers—ripped, flung, discarded—as skin met skin in a flurry of heat and need.

By the time we surfaced for breath, Kali was naked and disheveled beneath me, her hair a halo of wild strands, her body a canvas of blush and trembling.

“Kali~, baby~…” I leaned close, brushing her ear with my lips. “Tonight, I’m going to ravage you. And when we’re done, you’re going to be pregnant~.”

Her breath hitched, eyes widening, thighs parting instinctively. She didn’t shy away.

With a guttural growl, I plunged into her in one smooth, claiming thrust. Her cry echoed in the room, raw and gorgeous.

“Yes~. Baby~, take that cock~.”

I moved inside her with purpose, every stroke making her arch and moan. She was impossibly tight, clinging to me like she never wanted to let go. I kept a firm grip on myself, reminding myself that she didn’t have Aura—not yet—but gods, it was difficult.

“Yeeeesss!!! Yes~, yes~, yes~, yes~! Breed me! Breed me!”

Her cries set fire to my blood. Looping my arms around her legs, I lifted her easily, her arms flying up to lock around my neck. The new angle made her scream, and I reveled in it.

Driven by pure, primal instinct, I pounded into her harder, deeper. The idea of seeding her, of watching her swell with my child, made me feral.

When I felt the edge nearing, I leaned down and bit into her shoulder—claiming, tasting, owning. She cried out and bit me in turn, and for a moment, her teeth broke through my Aura. I allowed it. Welcomed it.

Blood trickled down, but I didn’t care.

With a grunt and a shudder, I buried myself fully inside her and let go, unloading everything I had deep into her womb. [Fertility Calibration I] flared as I willed it to take.

Kali’s legs trembled, her grip on me loosening as she sagged into the mattress, a blissed-out mess of moans and soft whimpers.

But I wasn’t done.

I wasn’t going to leave anything to chance.

Growling low, I flipped her onto her stomach and pulled her hips up, admiring the curve of her rear. With a bruising grip, I entered her again.

She screamed into the pillow, clawing at the sheets, and I didn’t let up. I pounded into her until she was crying out my name between sobs and orgasms.

“You feel that, baby~?” I whispered against her ear, voice husky. “That’s your womb welcoming me. That’s you becoming mine.”

She could only moan in response, too far gone in pleasure to form words.

I lost track of how many times she came. Her body milked me relentlessly, her inner walls trembling with every wave of ecstasy.

And I... I couldn’t stop. I wouldn’t. Not until I was sure.

Until her belly swelled with the evidence of our love and lust.

Hours later, drenched in sweat, blood, and satisfaction, I finally collapsed beside her. She was boneless in my arms, marked, claimed, and beautifully sated.

Kali looked at me with lidded eyes, a lazy smile tugging at her lips.

“I love you, you wild, dangerous woman.”

“I know,” I whispered, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “I never said I’d be kind. But I never promised I wouldn’t love you either.”

And that, as always, was the truth.

Kissing Kali's forehead, I basked in the heat radiating from her skin. It pulsed, alive and potent, thrumming against my lips like a second heartbeat. She was still panting, the aftershocks of our shared climax leaving her trembling in my arms. Her hair, damp with sweat, clung to her cheeks, and her eyes fluttered closed as she sighed contentedly. I reveled in her warmth, in her scent, in the raw intimacy we shared without pretense. Her body was still twitching, her Aura swirling faintly now that I'd awakened it in her.

When we finally stirred from our haze of pleasure, we didn’t speak. We didn’t need to. Her lips found mine with desperate need, and again, we lost ourselves to the rhythm. I kept fucking her—hard, relentless, unyielding. She cried out beneath me, each sound a melody, each arch of her back an offering. It was as though with her Aura now lit, she had become even more reactive, more receptive to the primal way I moved within her.

I made sure we used every damn surface in that room. The bed, the floor, the desk, the walls—her juices marking each like an artist signing their name. I’d done the same with Sienna, and with Blake before her. Yet, with Kali, it felt different. Not better, not worse. Just more...raw. More carnal. Like she needed to be claimed—wanted it—and I was more than willing to oblige.

Gods, I loved my women.

And Kali? That woman had her own surprises. Like Blake and Sienna, she was a kinky little minx beneath that composed exterior. Who would’ve guessed she'd have such a dedicated interest in licking my armpits? At first, I’ll admit, I found it strange. But she did it with such worshipful reverence that I eventually leaned into it. Her tongue was curious, reverent, insistent. The act turned from bizarre to intoxicating in record time.

My hand rested on her belly, slightly distended from the sheer volume of cum I'd poured into her. My mark, the [Capturing] sigil, glowed faintly where I'd tattooed it onto her skin—just above her pelvis. A testament to her belonging. Mine, in mind, in body, and in soul. I traced my fingers down her stomach slowly, possessively, and she murmured something soft in her sleep, her hips twitching reflexively.

She shifted closer, her nose nuzzling the crook of my neck like a cat seeking warmth. A quiet, satisfied groan vibrated in her throat. I smiled, wrapping one arm tighter around her while my other hand gave a fond, kneading squeeze to that delectable ass of hers—now a vivid shade of red from the hours I’d spent slapping and gripping it. It jiggled so beautifully under my touch.

Next time, I’ll be taking her ass. She told me, in the thick of our lust, that she still had her anal virginity. The words had been shy, but the invitation was clear. I planned to savor it when the time came—inch by inch, moan by moan.

Chuckling, I leaned down and whispered into her ear, my voice low and velvet smooth, "Forgive me, baby, but I must tear myself away for now. Duty calls."

She whined, clinging to me with a sleepy protest, pressing her thighs together instinctively as if to keep the remnants of me inside her. Her voice was a slurred, breathy murmur. "Don't go..."

"Love you, baby." I said, my truth-laden words laced with genuine warmth. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't lie—not outright. Not with my nature. But then again, I had no reason to lie about something so beautiful.

Her voice followed me as I peeled myself from her embrace. "I love you, too..."

After a quick rinse in the bath, I stood by the door for a moment, taking one last look at the woman now sprawled out across the sheets like a goddess. Her legs were still twitching occasionally, and the way her chest rose and fell made my own heart skip. She needed rest. She had been a civilian before this, unawakened and untrained. Her Aura was new—fragile and blazing.

It was Thursday. I needed to be at Beacon soon.

Leaving the room, I made my way through the winding halls of the White Fang headquarters. The scent of sex clung to me faintly, but I wore it like a badge of honor. As I turned a corner, my eyes caught sight of Sienna.

She looked breathtaking as always, standing with one hand on her hip and the other holding a paper she was scanning with quiet intensity. Her fur-lined cloak draped elegantly over her form, though I knew what lay beneath it intimately.

Grinning, I crept up behind her, moving with all the stealth months of training had afforded me. When I finally closed the distance, I wrapped my arms around her waist. She didn’t flinch. Didn't even blink.

"Good afternoon, Zani." she said coolly, not taking her eyes off the paper.

"And a good afternoon to you too, love." I murmured, placing a slow kiss on her temple. The moment my lips touched her skin, a subtle shiver ran down her spine.

"So," she purred, folding the paper and turning slightly in my arms. "Considering I’m seeing you now, I take it you and Kali went at it for quite some time."

There was that teasing lilt, the knowing mischief that lived in her eyes. I smirked, cupping her jaw gently and tilting her face toward mine.

"You wound me, my love. Do you not trust that I’ve got plenty left for you?"

"Oh, I know you do." she whispered.

Our lips met, and it was fireworks. No rush, no hunger—just raw passion. My tongue claimed her, dancing past her parted lips with ease, as if we were made to fit together. She moaned into me, and her hands found the back of my neck, tugging me deeper. The kiss went on and on—wet, slow, and utterly consuming. The world narrowed to just the two of us.

When we finally pulled apart, it was only because a voice from somewhere nearby called out, "Get a room, you two!"

I didn’t even glance at who said it. I just laughed, barking, "Get back to work!"

The grunt snorted and scurried off. Sienna chuckled softly, eyes glittering with amusement. I stroked a thumb across her cheek.

"Have a wonderful day, my Queen." I said with warmth, placing another kiss on her forehead.

"You always know how to cause a scene," she murmured, her smile genuine.

"Only with you, love."

As I turned to leave, I looked back once, catching the way she stood there, lips still parted from our kiss, expression soft and open. Sienna was strength and seduction, fire and finesse. She had my heart just as surely as Kali did. They were different, but each sacred to me.

And with each passing day, I would ensure they knew it.

Gods, life was good.

{Weiss' POV}

Life wasn’t going particularly well at the moment. That may sound a bit dramatic—and maybe it is—but it’s still the only way I could describe how I felt. It’s been two weeks since we began our schooling at Beacon, and, truth be told, I was... happy. Surprisingly so. My team was not only competent but also filled with people I could genuinely call friends.

My Team was unexpectedly functional. I was mentally prepared to deal with arrogant brutes, flighty children, or worse, someone who thought this was all a game. Instead, I got Blake—calm, intelligent, and frustratingly attractive. Yang—loud, fiery, and a magnet for chaos. And Ruby—earnest and adorable, a whirlwind of innocent energy. Somehow, we worked.

But therein lay my problem. Two of my teammates—Blake and Yang—were at the center of my frustrations.

Ever since Professor Zani publicly revealed her rather intimate relationship with Blake, everything had shifted. The once quiet, reserved woman I had been slowly coming to understand transformed—not quite into a different person, but certainly into a less restrained version of herself. Blake’s stoicism remained, but her words had become laced with suggestion, her glances heavier, more thoughtful. It was... unnerving.

She had stated, with no hesitation, that she was interested in all of us. Not just platonically, but romantically. Sexually. Even though it wasn’t uncommon for Huntresses and Huntsmen to form complicated relationships—sometimes even harems—it was another thing entirely when your teammate openly, calmly, says she wants to court you.

I didn’t know what I felt at first. Confused? Yes. A little flustered? Certainly. But mostly—I was flattered. I mean, Blake Belladonna—the White Fang member—interested in me, Weiss Schnee? It sounded like the premise of one of those salacious novels she tries to hide under her bed. Which I had, of course, found accidentally. Several times.

Still, her interest was real. That much I could tell. And once I accepted that fact, I began to pay more attention to the subtleties: how her hand would brush against mine, how she’d glance at me a second too long, how her ears twitched when I laughed. I wasn’t sure I’d ever truly return her affections, but I wasn’t closed off to the idea either. Time would tell.

But then there was Yang.

When she realized Blake’s flirtations weren’t jokes but genuine, it was like someone had lit a fire under her. She made it her personal mission to tease Blake—constantly. What began as harmless jabs and banter slowly evolved into blatant flirting. Unfortunately, Yang was more bark than bite. Every time Blake reciprocated—even just a sultry comment or a look—Yang would falter. She’d laugh it off, make a crude joke, and retreat. Every damn time. It was exhausting.

Don’t get me wrong—it was funny at first. The awkwardness. The missteps. The thinly veiled sexual tension so thick it could be sliced with Myrtenaster. But eventually, it became tiresome. Infuriating, even. I wanted to shake them both and scream, just fuck already!

Speaking of fucking—Blake had become another sort of problem.

Every time Professor Zani held class, Blake would vanish the moment it ended. At first, I thought she was taking personal time. Maybe meditating. Reading. Writing tragic poetry under a tree somewhere. But no. She was with Zani. And not just "with" her.

No, I realized quickly just how intimate their rendezvous were. I wasn’t completely naïve. The signs were there. The way Blake walked back into our dorm, flushed cheeks and a slight limp, her eyes unfocused, her entire body practically glowing. And then there was the scent—thick, heady, impossible to ignore. Sex. Blake reeked of it. Every. Single. Time.

She could have at least taken a bath before returning to our shared space. I don’t say this to be petty—though I probably am—but because the smell did something to me. Something frustrating. Something I couldn’t afford to acknowledge when I shared a room with three other women. My nights became longer. My cold showers, colder. And still, I couldn’t rid myself of the heat that settled under my skin like an infection I couldn’t shake.

Then there was Professor Zani herself.

Whenever she had free time that matched ours, she would—uninvited but never unwelcome—slip into our circle. She was casual about it, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. And somehow, it was. Even the ever-eccentric Nora accepted her presence as easily as oxygen.

I couldn’t find it in myself to complain. Zani was charming, articulate, and a wealth of knowledge. She answered questions with effortless grace, often offering perspectives none of us had considered. Especially about the White Fang. Her words peeled back layers of assumptions I hadn’t even realized I held. For the first time, I saw the Faunus as individuals, not problems. Blake noticed. She never said anything, but I saw the flicker of approval in her eyes.

But Zani... she was too much.

Beautiful, terrifying, elegant, and so effortlessly alluring. Her voice was like silk sliding over bare skin, her eyes gleaming with secrets, her smile always toeing the line between knowing and dangerous. When she touched someone—just a hand on a shoulder or a gentle brush of fingers—it lingered. And when she touched me...

I felt it. In my chest. In my stomach. Lower.

She never said anything overtly suggestive. That wasn’t her style. No, her words were carefully chosen, each syllable deliberate. Honest. Too honest. Her compliments wrapped in clever language, never quite crossing a line, never quite innocent either. And gods help me, I responded to it. I craved it.

I had never considered romance before—not seriously. I had never allowed myself the time or space to even entertain it. But now? Between Blake’s soft smiles and Zani’s piercing eyes, I was drowning in it. Lust. Longing. Curiosity. It was torture.

Sometimes I caught Zani watching me. Not in the way professors observe students. No. It was focused, almost reverent. Like she was cataloguing every microexpression, every flick of my wrist, every breath. It made me feel exposed. Powerful. Vulnerable. Desired.

I found myself wondering—what if I did respond to Blake’s advances? What if I let myself follow that thread, not just to her, but to Zani as well? Would that bring me closer to them? Would it satisfy the ache curling in my gut like smoke?

I’d lie awake at night, thoughts filled with bloody and golden eyes and honeyed voices. I’d clench my fists, grip my sheets, trying to banish images of Zani’s lips pressed against skin, Blake’s hands trailing down hips. My own name falling from someone’s mouth in the haze of climax.

And I hated it. And I wanted more.

There was a moment the other day. Zani had leaned in to whisper something to Ruby about projectile mechanics, but her lips had brushed my ear instead. I don’t even think she noticed. But I did. My whole body went taut. Every hair on my arms stood up.

And when I turned to look at her—really look—she gave me a small smile. Not mocking. Not kind. Just... knowing. And I felt seen in a way that terrified me.

I couldn’t even lie to myself about it. She wanted me. And the part of me that still believed in fairy tales wanted her too.

My father would keel over if he knew. Which, of course, made the idea even more appealing.

Blake wasn’t subtle either. Sometimes she would catch me staring, and her smile would stretch just a little. Not smug. Just soft. Patient. It made me feel both safe and hunted. A prey that wanted to be caught.

And Yang—gods bless her—continued her parade of empty flirting and loud declarations of indifference. I could see it, clear as crystal. The way she watched Blake when she thought no one noticed. The way her fingers curled in frustration when Blake gave someone else attention.

The way her voice cracked, just barely, when Blake flirted with me.

She wasn’t fooling anyone.

We were all dancing around each other. Sparks flying in every direction. No fire yet, but embers. Glowing. Waiting.

Clutching my head one night, I groaned into my pillow. This wasn’t what I expected from Beacon. I thought I’d be learning tactics, fighting Grimm, sharpening my Semblance.

Instead, I was daydreaming about women. About mouths on skin, about whispered confessions, about letting myself feel something I had locked away for so long.

I hated it. I loved it. And I had no idea where it would lead.

But I wasn’t going to lie to myself. Not anymore.

Life wasn’t good right now.

It was complicated.

Chapter Text

{Zani's POV}

Tapping my foot on the dusty concrete floor, I waited with deliberate patience for my hosts to open the door. Each second that passed throbbed with anticipation, but I showed none of it—just a calm, slow rhythm echoing in the dim evening air. Then, with the rasp of metal against metal, the door to the warehouse creaked open.

Without a hint of hesitation, I stepped inside. Not a sliver of fear danced through me. The air was heavy with dust and intent, thick with the kind of aura that tried too hard to intimidate. I barely acknowledged it.

"Nice place." I drawled, sarcasm soaking through every syllable. My eyes swept lazily over the gathered figures. They were trying. I gave them that. But intimidation only worked when one accepted the premise.

A day ago, I’d found a curious letter on my desk, promising gifts "beyond my wildest dreams." Initially, I thought it some elaborate prank, a bored bureaucrat's joke—or maybe Adam trying to fuck with me from beyond his grave, funny, that. But no, my instincts flared then, and they've never led me astray. So I came.

And here I stood, facing the so-called mysterious benefactors. Not so mysterious anymore.

"Good evening, Lieutenant Waves." Cinder Fall greeted, her voice smooth and brimming with restrained arrogance. She did her best not to scowl at my casual stance.

My eyes glinted, a mischievous smirk tugging at my lips. "Well now~. Seems you’ve got me at a bit of a disadvantage~. You know my name, but I don’t know yours~. Would the beauty be so kind as to tell me her name~?"

The deliberate flirtation caught her off guard. I saw it in the subtle twitch of her brow, the parting of her lips. She hadn’t expected that—expected indifference, maybe disdain. But not this. Not interest.

I hadn’t expected it either, if I was being honest. But now that I had a face to put to the sender of the letter, I couldn’t help but be intrigued. And judging by the subtle flick of her eyes over me, my presence intrigued her too.

Cinder’s gaze hardened, her posture straightening like a coiled whip. "It’s only common sense for allies to know each other’s names. I am Cinder Fall, and I’ve come with an offer you’ll want to hear."

I raised a brow. "Allies, huh? How bold of you to presume."

Still, I gestured lazily for her to go on.

"You’ve put effort into reforming the White Fang. The raised wages, the structure, the discipline—it’s admirable. But let’s not pretend it’s enough. Humans will never truly accept it. They’ll always see your progress as theft, as insurgency. No matter what you do, it will never be enough."

I listened, expression unreadable. She wasn’t wrong. If I wasn't in the picture, the humans would see our rapid expansion as such. But she didn't know I had other means of keeping them from retaliating, from branding us as thieves.

"That’s why I’ve come to you," she continued, her voice gaining heat. "The White Fang needs more. More than hope and wages. I want to offer you... power."

I stared at her for a heartbeat, arms folded as my weight shifted onto one leg. Then I laughed.

It wasn’t polite or restrained. It was genuine. My laughter echoed off the warehouse walls, drawing confused looks from Emerald and Mercury. Cinder’s expression darkened.

"Seriously? That’s your pitch? Power? Bitch, please."

I wiped a tear from the corner of my eye, then leaned forward slightly, voice dropping low.

"I don’t think you’ve ever even tasted true power."

In a blink, I was gone from where I stood—and appeared beside her, my breath brushing the shell of her ear. She stiffened.

A flicker to my right—Emerald lunged, blade in hand. I leaned lazily away, her knife missing me by a hair. Behind me, Mercury’s kick came fast, precise. My palm caught it easily. With a flick of my wrist, I sent him flying into a rusted crate. Another movement and Emerald followed him, tumbling in a heap.

Now alone with Cinder, I let the change happen. My horns lengthened, curling like obsidian thorns. My tail flicked behind me, more serpentine now. I towered over her, eight feet tall and utterly at ease.

My hand rested gently on her shoulder, firm but not forceful.

"Here’s a counteroffer," I purred. "Work for me, and I’ll give you power. More than your dear Queen could ever dream of."

I let my scent flood the space between us, a subtle wave of something primal, pulling. Her breathing hitched, the tiniest gasp escaping her as she shivered beneath my touch.

Then I wrapped my arms around her, slow, intimate, pulling her into my embrace. Her body tensed against mine, yet she didn’t pull away.

"What do you say, hmm? Unlike your Queen, I offer more than whispers and commands. I offer freedom. Fulfillment. All I ask is for you to give yourself... to me."

She hesitated.

Perfect.

My lips brushed her ear again. "Just answer me, sweet little thing. Do you want power?"

My [Lures] wrapped tighter, like velvet chains. My [Talents] whispered promises to her flesh, my fingers trailing just barely along the lines of her body. She trembled, her body betraying her even as her mind screamed to resist.

Cinder Fall was the type who needed control, who lived off of it. But here, in this moment, denied that control, her breathing quickened. She was crumbling, and she liked it.

"Say yes~, and I’ll give you everything you’ve ever dreamed of~."

A beat of silence passed, thick with tension.

Then, finally:

"Ye-yes! Power! I want it!"

Her voice cracked slightly, breathless. She sounded desperate.

I smiled, lips grazing her neck as I offered a single, lingering touch to the shifting heat between her legs.

"Then be a good girl and come to the White Fang tomorrow. I’ll have everything prepared just for you~."

And then I was gone. One moment in her arms, the next on the warehouse rooftop, watching the night sky shimmer above Vale’s shadowed silhouette.

I smiled.

Everything had gone according to plan.

Getting close to Salem’s inner circle was risky, but necessary. And Cinder—sweet, aching Cinder—was the key.

My patron’s blessing ensured I could not lie, but the truth twisted just enough was always more powerful. No, I never said I wouldn’t control her. I never promised her anything she wouldn’t want. Just the right words, said at the right time, to unravel her carefully constructed walls.

And it worked.

Of course, my [Lures] and [Talents] played their roles perfectly. But they alone couldn’t have swayed someone like Cinder.

It was my Semblance that sealed it.

It was subtle, almost invisible to even the most trained eyes. A passive, insidious ability that grew stronger with my own strength. The more powerful I became, the more others wanted to follow me. Not from fear or obligation—but desire. Fascination.

I was [T6] now. Cinder, merely [T5].

That gap made all the difference.

Normally, I used my Semblance to enforce discipline among my subordinates. It made troops loyal, it kept the lieutenants in line. But tonight, it had a different use.

Cinder didn’t know it yet, but she was mine now.

Not by threat. Not by bribe.

But by the most exquisite of manipulations—desire.

Tomorrow, the seeds I planted tonight would bloom.

And when she came to me—when she came begging—I would give her what she asked for.

And take from her what I needed.

Vale was mine. Even if its people didn’t know it yet.

And Cinder Fall, the firestarter, the Queen’s favorite pawn?

She would burn for me. Not Salem.

Not anymore.

I turned my eyes toward the moonlit city, feeling the pulse of power beneath my skin.

It had begun.

{Cinder's POV}

"Are you sure about this, Cinder?" Emerald asked, her voice shaky as we descended further into the heart of our enemy’s stronghold. Her steps faltered for a moment, and I could see the nervous tension rolling off her in waves. She was trying to hold it together, but the deeper we went, the more uneasy she became.

"I assure you, Emerald," I replied, forcing the confidence into my voice. "This is the best course of action."

I didn’t believe myself. Not really. Even as I said the words, I could feel the bitter sting of doubt chewing at the back of my mind. Why the hell was I following that bitch’s orders? Zani Waves... a name I hadn’t anticipated having any weight in my plans, and yet, here I was.

Originally, I had set my sights on the White Fang because of Adam Taurus. He was a brute, yes, and difficult to handle, but with the right leverage, I was certain he would follow my lead. The Fang had something we desperately needed: manpower. There was no scenario in which Emerald and I alone could transport the sheer volume of Dust necessary to achieve the destruction of Mt. Glenn. We needed hands, bodies. Soldiers.

But Adam vanished. Just like that. Imprisoned, or so the whispers said. And then, silence.

In his place came Zani Waves, the White Fang’s new Lieutenant. She was composed, calculating—far too competent for her position, really. My initial response was to abandon the Fang altogether, unwilling to deal with someone who clearly wasn’t a pawn. But months passed. No new leads. No new allies. Eventually, desperation drove me back, compelled me to roll the dice.

I thought, maybe—just maybe—Zani hid a streak of ambition under that polished exterior. That, if tempted, she could be coerced. Seduced. Bought.

What a joke.

When I made my offer, Zani laughed. Not the polite kind either. It was sharp, mocking, and filled with something that made the hair on my arms stand up. I considered killing her on the spot.

Then she moved.

From a twenty-meter distance, she was suddenly behind me. Emerald and Mercury were on the floor before I could blink, groaning, breathless. I hadn’t seen a damn thing. It was...incomprehensible.

And then I felt it. Her presence. It wasn't like Salem’s. Salem's aura was cold, hateful, like stepping into a storm that wanted to rip your skin off. Zani's was different. It was oppressive in a way that felt...personal. Like I was being owned just by being in her proximity.

Then came her counteroffer.

I wanted to say no. Every instinct screamed at me to get away. But what stopped me cold was the casual way she referenced Salem. That wasn’t information just anyone had. It made me wonder if she was one of Ozpin’s spies—someone planted within the White Fang. But that theory fell apart when she didn't try to capture me or report me. Instead, she offered me power.

Real power.

And fuck me if I wasn’t intrigued.

I told myself I’d pretend. Let her believe I was working for her. Play the role until I figured her out, gathered intelligence, and turned the tables.

“This feels kind of dumb, boss.” Mercury muttered behind me. His voice grated on my nerves like sandpaper. I didn’t even bother to respond.

We stopped in front of a thick, reinforced door. The White Fang grunt that led us here gave a curt nod and turned without another word. I sighed, pressing a hand to the wood.

I wasn’t ready for this.

But I knocked anyway.

“Come in~.” Zani’s voice dripped through the door like honey. It was smooth, low, and rich with implication.

I opened the door.

The office was exactly what I expected from her—meticulous, minimal, with a kind of sterile, focused elegance. But I barely registered it. My attention was on Zani.

She was perched on a stool, toying with a tattoo gun. The way she held it was casual, intimate—like it was an extension of herself.

“Good girl~. You came just like I expected you to~.” I bristled at her words. The tone, the implication—it made something hot twist in my gut. I should’ve been angry. Offended. I was Cinder Fall, not someone’s toy.

But the twitch between my legs told a different story.

"Let’s start with you first, Cinder~. Come and sit on the tattoo bed and tell me where you want it. Of course, if you'd prefer some privacy, your cronies can go wander a bit~."

Her words coiled around me, and I glared at her, but I nodded to Emerald and Mercury regardless. They needed to scout the base, and I needed...to get through this without losing control.

“Why a tattoo?” I asked, eyeing the tool in her hands.

Zani smiled slowly. “Magic is a strange thing, Cinder~. Symbolism matters. Placement matters. Some systems are more literal than you'd ever expect~.”

The tattoo gun buzzed softly. I didn’t trust her, but damn it, she sounded like she knew what she was talking about.

“So~. Where shall I place it~?” My breath caught.

I had intended to say my shoulder—easy, neutral, safe. But something dark and reckless coiled in my mind. A challenge. A dare. A need to assert control...or maybe to give it up.

I pointed to my stomach.

Just above my dick.

Right over my womb.

Zani's grin widened, like a predator who had just watched its prey step into the trap willingly.

“There~? Well, if that's what you want~.” I shivered. Not from cold.

“Please, take off your dress. Don’t worry, this will be strictly professional~.” Bullshit. This wasn’t going to be professional. Not even close. But I stepped out of my dress anyway, each inch of exposed skin making me feel simultaneously powerful and vulnerable.

Zani’s gaze devoured me. Her eyes lingered where they shouldn’t. My half-hard cock twitched under her attention.

“Now, please lie down. This will take about an hour.” I lay back, my body humming, tingling. I didn’t cover my breasts. What was the point?

“I’ll be starting now, baby girl~.”

Fuck.

Her voice hit something in me. I hated the way it made my stomach flip, how it made my thighs clench. The tattoo gun buzzed again, and the hour began.

And it was the longest hour of my life.

Zani was a tease. No. She was the tease.

Every touch, every movement was deliberate. Her elbow brushed my breast. Her free hand skimmed my thighs. Her breath—hot, too hot—ghosted over my cock.

Then she escalated. A hand slipped over my chest, lingering just a little too long. My thighs ached from how hard I clenched them. My cock was stiff, pressed against her cheek as she leaned in.

I should’ve stopped her. I should have shoved her away, reminded her who was in control.

But I didn’t.

I couldn’t.

I liked it. I liked this. The dominance, the mystery, the way she unraveled me without even trying.

By the end, I was drenched. My cock slick and twitching. My core aching with need. My chest heaving.

Zani looked at me like she hadn’t spent the past hour torturing me.

“All done~. It’ll take two days for the tattoo to fully settle. By then, you’ll find it easier to channel your Aura, pick up combat techniques faster, and generally feel stronger."

She turned her head as if I weren’t half-naked and desperate in front of her.

“Here you go, baby girl. Once you’re dressed, why not send in the little greenette for her turn~?”

My mouth went dry. The audacity. The absolute audacity.

She expected me to just walk out after this? I should’ve demanded more. Demanded her. Right then, right there.

But I didn’t.

I had an image to maintain, fragile as it was.

So I pulled on my dress with shaking fingers and sent Emerald a text with the location. Then I stepped out, still pulsing with heat, Zani’s voice echoing in my ears.

She was winning.

And I wasn’t sure I wanted her to stop.

{Zani's POV}

After Cinder and her cronies left, I allowed myself a small, satisfied smile. My Aura ached with the familiar burn of overuse, strained nearly to its breaking point. Two hours of sustained Semblance was no joke—even for someone as seasoned as me. But it had been worth it. Every second of it. I’d wrapped my essence tightly around Cinder and Emerald, subtly suffocating them with it as I worked on their tattoos. The manipulation wasn’t overt. It didn’t need to be. My Semblance bent perception, made the unnatural feel mundane, encouraged surrender, and dulled resistance. It worked better on those already susceptible to power dynamics. And oh, were they ever.

Cinder, though… she’d been a delightful surprise. I’d known what she was from the moment we met—just like me, a futanari. Her energy hummed in tune with mine, and it was obvious she felt the same spark. What I hadn’t expected was her boldness, that glint in her eyes when she asked for the tattoo to be placed around her womb. Her phrasing was deliberate, her meaning clear. A challenge. One I very nearly failed, truth be told. I’d had to physically stop myself from dropping to my knees right there and wrapping my lips around her cock.

Rare was the opportunity to lie with a fellow futanari. Blake, Kali, Sienna—they were fun, sure, but strap-ons didn’t satisfy the same itch. Not really. Cinder, though? She was temptation given form. Still, restraint was a virtue, and once these two days were over, Cinder and Emerald would be mine in both bond and body.

Emerald, the sweet little chocolate goodie, had chosen a more modest location—dead center of her back, just below the nape of her neck. I didn’t mind in the slightest. It gave me an excuse to straddle her thighs while I worked, to subtly grind against the curve of her ass with every deliberate stroke of the tattooing needle. She hadn’t commented, but she hadn’t pulled away either. That silence was permission enough.

Really, my Semblance was one hell of a tool for compliance. I didn’t even need to use force. They wanted to submit. I just made the idea feel good.

As for Mercury? I’d given him a generic tattoo on his shoulder and sent him packing. No sexual tension, no interest, not even a flicker of curiosity. He didn’t do it for me. At all. And that wasn’t about gender. I wasn’t a misandrist; I just didn’t like him. His energy clashed with mine. He felt... slick. Slippery. Disingenuous. I was the one doing the manipulating here, and I hated being reminded of someone else trying to do the same, even if his attempts were rather poor.

Anyway, with two days left on their bindings, Cinder and Emerald would soon be mine. Fully. Completely. And once I had them, well... it would only be a matter of time before I gained access to Salem’s inner circle.

The real question was what to do with Cinder. Keep her as she was? Tempting. But changing her would be more fun. Still, I’d keep her essence intact. Everyone I [Capture] became mine, yes, but I wanted my [Companions] to remain true to themselves—at least the parts that made them interesting. Maybe it was the sliver of altruism still buried in me, or maybe I just preferred my women to be authentic.

Before I even started the tattoos, I’d invested heavily: [Mystic Tattoo], [Eye of the Beholder] for my [Bindings], and a handful of indulgent abilities—[Sticky Fingers: Brown Sugar], [Faerie Feast: Master Chef], [Alluring Whisper: Dirty Minds (20)], and [Alluring Whisper: Siren's Song]. Those last ones were more compulsive buys than strategic, but no regrets. They’d paid off in their own way. I was down to [3 Credits], but I was fine with that. Very fine.

"Pyrrha Nikos is out due to ring-out!" I declared, voice booming with all the theatrical flourish I could muster. A cheer erupted from the crowd, thunderous and immediate. I watched with mild amusement as Blake extended a hand to Pyrrha, helping her up. Pyrrha’s expression was... peaceful? That was strange. But she seemed genuinely pleased with the outcome.

"As this was the final battle, everyone is dismissed!" I called out. Students began filing out, exhaustion etched across their faces. They were tired, sore, probably half-broken. Good. Growth came from friction.

Ruby, ever the excitable child, was the first to bounce up to the arena. "That was so cool! Blake was all, hwashaw! And Pyrrha went, ching! Then Blake did a kachaw!" Her reenactment was over-the-top and ridiculous, arms flailing with sound effects.

Jane approached with a soft smile, fussing over Pyrrha like a doting mother hen. "You certainly gave Pyrrha a run for her money, Blake." she commented while gently patting dirt off Pyrrha’s backside. Her hand lingered a little longer than necessary. Pyrrha didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she leaned slightly into the touch.

The tension between them was growing—palpable, sweet, and just a little dangerous. They’d both be [Captured] soon enough. But if they were more into each other than into me? That was fine. I’d just turn them into [Familiars] instead. Still, if the opportunity presented itself… having both of them on my cock would be a damn dream.

Jane, in particular, was evolving. Of everyone I’d been training, she was the one who needed the most guidance. She lacked polish. Precision. But she made up for it in passion and effort. After nearly three weeks of private instruction, she was starting to move like a warrior. It was beautiful to watch.

"What do you guys say about getting some shawarma?" Yang asked, slinging an arm around Blake's shoulder with casual ease. "There’s a new place that opened up, and it’s got killer reviews."

My voice slid into the conversation like silk. "Are you talking about The White Ember, perhaps?"

Yang turned to me, blinking. "Wait, how’d you know, teach?"

"Oh, you know," I said, lips curling into a smile. My words always danced just shy of the truth. "There’s only one shawarma place in Vale, Yang. And, incidentally, I own it."

Yang’s jaw practically hit the floor. Blake just chuckled, brushing her fingers through her hair. "At least you didn’t find out the hard way—like I did. I set up a date in this one restaurant before I realized Zani owned the damn place."

Yang gave Blake a slow once-over, then looked back at me. Absolutely baffled, likely not expecting her teacher to own a business on the side, or multiple ones, in this instance.

"Well," I said, letting my voice drop into something warmer. "Since it’s Saturday, and both your teams have shown the most improvement lately, why don’t we go eat there for dinner? My treat."

Predictably, the more composed members hesitated. The wilder ones did not.

"You sure!? Hell yeah! Free food!" Nora yelled, fist-pumping the air.

I smiled, satisfied.

Turning toward Glynda, I found her still tapping away on her tablet, eyes narrowed in that intense, focused way that was uniquely hers. Probably cataloging recordings of today’s matches.

"You can come too, Glynda," I said, tone lighter. "Gods know how overworked you are."

She paused mid-tap, clearly caught off guard. Her mouth opened, then closed.

"That’s sweet, Zani, but I don’t think the students would be comfortable with two professors tagging along."

Blake, perceptive as ever, jumped in before I could even flick an eyebrow.

"It’s fine, Professor Goodwitch. Besides, knowing Zani, she’ll probably reserve a private room just for the two of you. And don’t bother trying to refuse. Zani can be... very persuasive."

My eyes met Glynda’s. Slowly. Intently.

She considered that, fingers resting lightly against her chin, before letting out a soft sigh. "Fine. I’ll come."

I grinned. Victory.

We’d spent weeks moving toward first names. Now, the air between us was heavy with something else. Her eyes lingered a little too long. My words curved around her like vines, never quite lies, but always leading her somewhere warmer. More intimate.

Yes. Tonight was going to be fun. This was an unexpected development, but it was an opportunity I wasn't going to miss.

Chapter Text

{Glynda's POV}

Remember, Glynda. This is not a date.

This is just... an evaluation. A professional observation. Nothing more. You’re going to dinner with a fellow Huntress—albeit one who’s so absurdly hot she probably causes property damage when she smirks—and two teams of teens. You’re accompanying them. Chaperoning. You’re there for guidance and supervision. Not... not for romantic indulgence. Even if you’ll be sitting in a private booth. Even if it’s just the two of you in that booth. It is not a date.

Even if your heart skipped three beats when she asked you. It’s. Not. A. Date.

"Deep breaths, Glynda. Deep breaths." I murmured as I leaned over the dresser, fussing with my eyeliner for the third time. This one needed to be perfect. It had to be. Not because it was a date, obviously. But because I refused to look like some sleep-deprived field professor next to her.

Zani.

Zani, with her impossible cheekbones, her eyes that looked like they could dissect you or save you—depending on how she felt that hour—and that calm, gliding walk like she didn’t give a single fuck about the rules of gravity. Zani, who had once faced down sixty-four students in the combat hall, drained only half her Aura, and still looked like she had stepped off a goddamn runway.

And gods, did she know it.

I pointed at myself in the mirror. "You’ve fought Alphas, Glynda. Deathstalkers that split trees in half. You’ve held the line while villages burned. This is nothing."

Except it didn’t feel like nothing. It felt like everything. Like one wrong move and I’d crumble. I looked at the makeup brush in my hand, now shaking slightly, and set it down before I smeared foundation halfway down my jaw. I exhaled, closing my eyes for a beat longer than necessary.

"Shit. I'm going to make an embarrassment out of myself." My voice sounded small. Too small. I stepped back, sitting down on the edge of the bed. The dress I had picked for tonight lay draped across the footboard. Elegant, dark, with subtle green sheen—just enough flair to be noticed without demanding attention.

It had sat in my closet for years. Waiting for a reason.

Zani had given me one.

I sighed again, pressing my fingers to my temple as if I could massage the nerves into submission. The truth was, Zani terrified me. Not in the way Grimm terrified. Not in the visceral, bloody kind of way. No. She terrified me because she made me feel seen. Really, truly seen.

'Zani was a whirlwind.' I thought, not for the first time.

Composed. Controlled. Every movement calculated, every word delivered with the precision of someone who could cut your soul open and make you thank her for the privilege. She could banter with the kids in the same breath she used to give sound advice to them. She knew just how far to push a fight, how close to lean into someone’s personal space without being rude—and how to linger just long enough to make you wonder what would happen if you leaned forward instead of back.

And I had leaned. More than once.

She never said anything damning, never promised anything. But her gaze? Her gaze was heavy. Curious. Like she was testing something. And I had failed every time by letting my heart flutter like some simpering schoolgirl.

And yet...

There were those moments. Quiet ones. Late paperwork nights when she’d slide me a mug of coffee without being asked, brewed just how I liked it. Or when our hands would brush as we both reached for the same pen, and she wouldn’t pull away. Wouldn’t even flinch. Just look at me, steadily, as if wondering how long it would take me to close the distance.

I tried telling myself it didn’t mean anything.

But even I couldn’t lie that well.

The truth was, Zani had this maddening way of getting under my skin. She unraveled me. Slowly. Deliberately. Like a sculptor deciding which part of the stone to carve away next. She never raised her voice. Never demanded anything. She didn’t need to.

The worst part? I liked it. I liked that she was always in control. That she could reduce me to silence with a smile, or make my breath catch just by adjusting her collar. I hated that I liked it so much.

And I hated that I wanted more.

Even knowing she had a harem. Even knowing one of them was a student. It still made me uneasy. But not enough to turn away.

Because Zani made me feel wanted. Not just as a colleague. Not just as someone competent and reliable and good with a riding crop.

She made me feel seen.

Understood.

Desired.

And I wanted to be desired. I wanted her eyes on me the way they were when she wasn’t trying to hide her interest. When her lips curled slightly and she tilted her head like she was picturing things no proper woman should think in public.

I looked back at the mirror, now calm, and stood again.

My hands reached for the dress.

"Alright, Glynda. Let’s do this."

I slipped into the outfit, the silk hugging me in ways I hadn’t remembered it doing before. Or maybe I just hadn’t been paying attention. Maybe I hadn’t wanted to be seen before.

But I did now.

The scroll on the desk buzzed with an alert. I grabbed it, curious. [Zani: Be outside in ten. Wear something comfortable. You can still look dangerous, I don’t mind.]

Gods.

I stared at the message longer than I should’ve. Her tone was casual, flippant. But the choice of words—look dangerous—felt like an invitation.

I touched my lips, considering a darker gloss. Just a little. Enough to catch the light. Enough to maybe smudge if kissed.

No. Not if. When.

My fingers trembled slightly as I locked the compact shut and gave myself one final look. And for a brief second, just one, I saw what she might see.

I didn’t look scared.

I looked ready.

Zani was a storm. And I’d spent too long pretending I wasn’t standing in the rain, waiting for lightning to strike.

I picked up my courage, inhaled, and walked to the door. As I opened it, a warm breeze greeted me—and there she was. Leaning against the transport, wearing that usual leather coat with a bone-white blouse underneath. Subtle jewelry. Boots. Effortless.

Her eyes slid up the length of me with no attempt at subtlety. Then, a smirk.

"Glynda."

My name on her tongue felt like an exhale against my neck. I swallowed.

"Zani." I replied, managing not to stammer.

She opened the door for me. A gentleman, of course. But I caught the look in her eye when I moved past her. The faint tension in her jaw. The lingering glance at my back.

This wasn’t just dinner.

This was a test. For both of us.

And gods help me, I wanted to pass.

I climbed into the transport, settling into the seat beside her. The students were already in the back, noisy, blissfully unaware. For now.

Zani leaned slightly closer.

"You clean up well." she murmured.

I smiled without meaning to. "So do you."

As Zani drove, I held my breath, fantasizing about the night that is to come.

{Blake's POV}

The White Ember wasn't nearly as elegant or high-brow as Lunar Feast, but gods, it didn’t need to be. It had charm, warmth, and soul. Sure, the walls weren’t lined with marble or rare imported silk, but they were adorned with hand-painted murals done by local artists, some of them even Faunus. The lighting was soft, casting a golden hue over dark wooden tables, and the scent of spiced meats and herbs clung to the air like an embrace. It was... alive. A place that welcomed you, held you, and didn’t judge where you came from.

I wasn’t saying that just because the restaurant was run by Faunus, or because Zani herself owned the place. It was something else—something deeper. The real reason White Ember was exceptional was because Zani trained every single chef in that kitchen. Every time she opened a new business, she gave it more than just her name. She gave it her skill, her attention, and a little piece of herself. That’s why it thrived. That’s why the food was so damned good. Not as perfect as Zani’s personal cooking, no one could match that, but still so mouth-wateringly exquisite that even Beacon's top chefs would be humbled.

“This is, like, so good.” Ruby mumbled through a mouthful of biryani, her eyes wide as she shoveled another spoonful in.

“It’s weird,” Yang added, poking at her curry, “but weird in a good way. I can’t even tell what half these spices are, but they work.”

“Do you think Zani would be willing to lend some of her chefs to teach mine back home? They’re certainly... unique.”

And of course, Weiss had to say something like that. Classic Schnee logic: if it’s good, it should be hers. I chuckled, placing my spoon delicately on my plate.

“It’d be wiser to ask Zani to teach you herself,” I said, my voice teasing. “You’ll never match her, no one really does, but by the end of it, you’d be miles ahead of the ones you already have.”

Weiss blinked, a flicker of surprise in her eyes.

“Seriously? So the Professor’s strong, charming, business-savvy, and she can cook like this?” Yang grinned, her elbow nudging Weiss as she leaned back in her seat. “Damn. Leave some talents for the rest of us.”

I caught the faint flush rising in Yang’s cheeks. She was good at hiding things in jokes, but not good enough to fool me.

I took a moment to glance toward team JNPR at the next table. For the three weeks we’d been under Beacon’s roof, something had quietly knit our two teams together. Our dorms were just across from each other, so shared activities became the norm—midnight snacks, shared training routines, even chaotic prank wars. It felt like we’d always known each other. Maybe it was because their team was just as dysfunctional as ours

“So~...” Yang leaned forward, her eyes narrowing mischievously as she gestured toward the private booth across from us. “What do you think’s happening right now~?”

I followed her gaze and saw Zani sitting with Professor Goodwitch, her posture relaxed and just a touch too intimate. Glynda was sitting a little too close, her expression taut with a certain restraint.

Hiding a smirk, I shrugged. “They better be making out in there, or so help me...”

My voice trailed off, caught somewhere between amusement and memory. The last three weeks had been a lesson—not in combat, or strategy, but in watching Zani operate from the outside. I’d seen her hunt before, had even been the one caught in those golden eyes. But watching her now, watching her slowly draw Glynda in with that same deliberate confidence... it made my heart thrum in recognition, and in embarrassment.

Zani had a way of playing with her prey—never cruel, but undeniably intense. She knew just how much pressure to apply, just how close to push someone to their edge before reeling them back. It wasn’t about dominance. It was about control. Seduction through mastery. She never lost her grip.

“She’s toying with her.” I muttered under my breath, more to myself than anyone.

“What’s that?” Weiss asked, lifting an eyebrow.

“Nothing,” I said, lips curling slightly. “Just watching the dance.”

The others fell quiet for a moment, and I could feel their curiosity, their interest simmering just under the surface. Zani had that effect on people. She didn’t walk into a room; she claimed it. Everyone felt it—even those who didn’t want to.

I glanced toward the booth again. Zani was saying something that made Glynda’s lips twitch, her gaze flickering down to her glass. Was that a smile? Gods help us all.

She was falling.

Watching the red flush creeping up Glynda’s neck as Zani casually brushed a fingertip along the rim of her glass. The Professor swallowed visibly.

“Glynda’s not going to last the week,” I said, smirking. “Zani’s already inside her head.”

“Is that... bad?” Ruby asked, her fork pausing in midair.

I shrugged. “Not unless she resists. Zani only pushes when someone pulls. Once they give in... it’s over.”

And gods, Glynda was pulling so hard.

Across the table, Weiss gave a thoughtful look, as if calculating the logistics of Professor Goodwitch sleeping with another staff member.

“I wonder if there are rules about that.” she murmured.

“Probably,” Yang replied, “but when has Zani ever cared about rules?”

And that was true, too. Zani didn’t break rules. She simply operated in such a way that they bent around her. That’s how she got to me, after all.

I had been there, once. A girl who’d once thought herself composed, untouchable, reserved. Zani cracked through that like it was glass. And it wasn’t even something as crude as a flirtatious look or a wandering hand. It was the way she looked at you like she already knew your soul. Like she’d mapped it out and decided it was beautiful.

And now, Glynda was next.

“You okay?” Yang whispered beside me.

I nodded. “Just... remembering.”

Yang didn’t push. She never did when it really mattered. Not yet.

There was a soft clatter of silverware from the private booth. Glynda stood, her composure unraveling slightly. Her cheeks were pink, her hands a little too fidgety.

Zani stood too, but not in a rush. She moved like honey—slow, deliberate, impossible not to watch. She said something too low for us to hear, and Glynda nodded. They left the booth together.

“Ohhhh yeah,” Yang muttered, eyes wide. “That’s happening.”

I tried not to smile too hard. “Looks like it.”

“Uhh...why are they leaving?” Ruby asked.

"Don't worry, Ruby. The Professors are just probably going to talk about...matters..." I trailed off, not wanting to corrupt Ruby's innocence just yet. As I glanced at the leaving figures of Professor Goodwitch and Zani, I can't help but root for the former.

And deep down, I felt that familiar pull again—that draw Zani always had. The part of me that was already hers burned quietly, content in the fire. Watching someone else step into it was like watching art. Painful, beautiful, and somehow... inevitable.

And the most wicked thing of all?

Zani knew it.

She always knew.

{Glynda's POV}

The night was going well—almost too well, if I’m being honest with myself. From the moment we stepped foot inside The White Ember, everything seemed to fall into place with a strange sense of inevitability. The soft golden lighting, the subtle scent of wine and spice hanging in the air, and the distant hum of conversation all blended together into something dreamlike, as if the world had been waiting for this very evening to happen.

As promised, we were shown to our booths shortly after entering. Our students, giddy with excitement and dressed to the nines, were given a spacious booth of their own. I made sure to greet them properly, a polite smile on my face, masking the twist in my gut that had started the moment Zani placed her hand on the small of my back as we walked in. It lingered there just a second too long—warm, deliberate. Intentional.

Zani, ever the charismatic host, took her time speaking with the students. Her laughter came easily, her words smooth and teasing in a way that never overstepped but always lingered in the back of the mind. I followed suit, keeping my composure, engaging in small talk and gentle prodding. But the moment our orders arrived, it was like a signal had been given. Zani turned to me, her smile still soft but now holding something deeper—something darker.

She reached for my hand casually, fingers brushing against mine as if by accident, and then guided me towards our private booth. It wasn’t far from the students, but far enough to let the shadows swallow the intimacy. And once we sat down, once the plush velvet curtain was drawn partway, the shift was immediate.

Where the students’ booth had been loud and carefree—full of jokes, chatter, and the occasional burst of laughter—this space was drenched in a heavy, velvety quiet. Here, in the dim amber glow of the lanterns, there was no escaping the truth of what this night had become.

This was no casual dinner.

This was a date.

I had tried—gods, I had tried—to convince myself otherwise. That this was professional, that this was friendly, that I could keep my composure no matter what. But now, with Zani sitting across from me, her gaze burning holes into my skin, all those lies crumbled to dust. Her eyes were dark with mischief, lips curled into a knowing smirk, and I could feel every inch of her attention like a weight pressing against my body.

Her gaze wasn’t subtle. It raked across the exposed skin of my shoulders, lingered at the hollow of my throat, dipped lower, then returned slowly as if savoring every curve she’d mapped. When her hand touched mine again—this time deliberate, slow, her fingers dancing along the back of my hand—it sent a jolt up my spine. Like a live wire had been slipped beneath my skin. Her digits played across mine like she was plucking out a melody meant only for me.

And then there was her voice.

Gods, her voice.

It wasn’t just pleasant—it was spellbinding. The kind of tone that makes you lean in without realizing, that slides into your ears and wraps around your thoughts. Smooth, rich, with just the faintest edge of command. Every word she spoke felt like a promise. Not empty, not fleeting. But binding.

If she had told me to kneel, I wouldn’t have hesitated. I would have done it, right there, without shame. And the terrifying part? I think she knew. I think she could see it written all over my face, etched into the quickened rise and fall of my chest, the way I struggled to keep my posture rigid.

I’ve often wondered if her Semblance had anything to do with that—if maybe there was some subtle manipulation at play. But I know better. Her ability is straightforward, physical, raw power manifested cleanly, like her. There’s no trickery in her aura. No deceit. Just a natural magnetism she wears like a second skin.

As the night stretched on, the space between us grew smaller. Not physically—we remained on our respective sides of the booth—but in tension, in implication. Her flirtation grew bolder. Her compliments more pointed. Every little thing she said was dipped in honey and edged with iron.

"That color suits you far too well, Glynda," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "It makes it hard to look away."

My response caught in my throat. I reached for my wine instead, using it as a shield more than anything. The taste was sharp and smooth, but it did nothing to calm the heat building behind my cheeks.

When I dared to look at her again, she was already watching. Her elbow rested against the table, her chin balanced on the back of her hand, eyes half-lidded and unreadable.

"What’s on your mind, darling?" she asked, and though her tone was playful, I caught something else in it. Something almost dangerous in its sincerity.

"Just... trying to figure out what kind of evening this is." I replied, my voice quieter than I meant it to be.

She didn’t laugh. She didn’t tease. Instead, she leaned forward slightly, the dim light catching on her lips.

"It’s the kind of evening you don’t forget," she said. "The kind you think about for years after, even when you pretend you’ve moved on."

There it was again—that quality to her words that made them feel heavier than they should. Like they were laced with truth. Absolute and unshakable.

Her hand found mine again, not asking for permission this time, just claiming it. I let her. And when her thumb brushed over the inside of my wrist, I felt the burn of it through every inch of me.

Gods help me, I didn’t want her to stop.

I wanted more.

Even with the wine dulling my thoughts, some things were crystalline in their clarity. Zani was here for me, and not just in passing. She wanted me with a hunger that she didn’t bother to hide, and I—

I wanted to be wanted.

I craved that touch, that voice, that attention that made me feel like the only person in the world. I had been strong for so long. Distant. Untouchable. But tonight, Zani looked at me like she saw through every wall I’d built. And worse—she respected the fortress even as she planned how to dismantle it.

Her fingers drifted higher up my arm, her touch still feather-light. I could feel the curve of her smile as she watched my breath catch.

"You're trembling, love," she whispered. "Do I make you nervous?"

I should have lied. I should have denied it with some flippant remark, a raise of my eyebrow, something. But I didn’t. I couldn’t.

"Yes." I admitted. The word came out breathy. Honest.

Her smile deepened, and gods, it made me ache.

She leaned in, close enough that I could smell the faint floral notes of her perfume. Her lips brushed just beside my ear as she spoke.

"Then let me show you why that’s the best thing to feel."

It wasn’t a question.

It wasn’t even a suggestion.

It was a promise.

My pulse roared in my ears as she pulled back, giving me space—giving me a chance to say no. But the silence that fell between us said more than any words could. I didn’t want space. I wanted her.

So when she rose gracefully from the booth and offered her hand, the look in her eyes burning with intent, I didn’t hesitate. I took it.

Her fingers curled around mine with just enough pressure to remind me that she could snap me like a twig if she wanted—but wouldn’t. Not tonight. Tonight, her strength was mine to experience. To explore.

As we passed the students' booth, they didn’t even glance our way. Laughter still bubbled from their table, innocent and untouched by the fire smoldering between Zani and me. That was our secret.

When we stepped outside into the cool night air, the stars felt too distant, the moon too pale to reflect the heat radiating from my skin.

She leaned down, her breath brushing my jaw, and whispered, "My place is five minutes away."

And just like that—

I was hers.

Without shame. Without fear.

Just desire.

And the intoxicating certainty that I was about to experience something unforgettable.

Something that would mark me forever.

Chapter Text

{Glynda's POV}{18+}

We entered Zani's room, our lips fused together in a heated embrace, breaths shallow and hearts thudding loud in our chests. The door was slammed shut, locked hastily behind us without a second glance. My fingers clutched her collar while hers were already tugging at the seams of my dress, slow and purposeful. Each movement held intent, each touch reverberated with fire. The soft shuffle of fabric falling to the floor barely registered over the hum in my ears.

Zani’s hands roamed me like she was tracing a memory—up my arms, to my shoulders, gliding down my back and then forward to cup my breasts. Her touch was reverent but hungry, a worship that grew more frantic with every passing second. Her fingertips brushed over my thighs and I trembled under her palms, her name stuck in my throat like a song I couldn’t yet sing. Every trail she left on my skin burned sweetly, and I loved it—loved every single wake her hands etched across me.

When my legs touched the edge of the bed, I pulled her down with me, our mouths still tangled, breathlessly kissing like we were starved. Then I felt it—her member, firm and hot, pressing against my stomach through the last bit of cloth between us. I had never seen it before. But the feel of it sent a jolt of desire straight to my core, wetness pooling from the anticipation.

Zani pulled back just enough to look at me. Her eyes were fire, unhidden and intense, boring into mine. "So gorgeous. So perfect. Mine~." Her voice was a whisper, but the weight of her claim made me shiver. And then, her lips found my neck.

I gasped, then moaned, my hands reaching for her horns on instinct. The sensation of her tongue, her teeth, the heat of her breath on my skin—it was too much, and yet not enough. Her hands were just as greedy as her mouth, fondling and squeezing and shaping my body to her delight. When they finally found their way to my ass, she grabbed me like she owned me, and maybe, in that moment, she did.

"Zani. Zani~!" Her name tumbled from my lips over and over again, like a sacred chant. My body was on fire, and she was stoking it with every sinful touch.

And then she stopped.

I let out a needy groan, feeling the ache of denial. Her voice, low and teasing, made me clench. "My dear little Witch~..."

Zani trailed kisses down my body—each one slower than the last. First, my collarbone, then between my breasts, pausing to nibble and suck until I arched toward her. Then my stomach. My thighs. I was shaking by the time she reached the inside of them. Her kisses there were deliberate, and when her lips finally brushed against my clit, I cried out.

"Please. Zani~! Stop teasing me!"

She looked up, smiling with that damn glint in her eye. "As my Witch commands~."

Then her mouth was on me.

Her tongue slipped between my folds and I almost screamed. It was divine. Earth-shattering. My hands gripped her horns tightly, anchoring me to her as she devoured me like a starved beast. She hummed, the vibrations rolling through me in waves. The swirl of her tongue, the way she licked with maddening precision—it undid me. My back arched off the bed, and I screamed her name as I came, my body writhing beneath her in ecstasy.

I didn’t know how long I climaxed. Time didn’t exist. All I knew was that it was the best I'd ever had.

When I finally collapsed back onto the bed, boneless and spent, she rose slowly, licking her lips with an audible hum of satisfaction. "Delicious~, my little Witch~. But we're not done here~."

Her words sent a renewed pulse of desire straight through me.

Then I saw it. Her cock. Zani’s dick was thick, veined, longer than anything I had even imagined. My mouth went dry. I had little experience, but I knew enough to understand that she was going to ruin me. And part of me craved it.

She leaned forward, cradling my face between her hands. "Let me take care of you, Glynda~. Let me bring you to heights of pleasure you've never experienced~."

The way she said my name made my heart ache and swell at the same time. There was no lie in her voice. Just raw sincerity, and something deeper, something tender. I nodded, unable to speak, and she smiled, gently bringing our bodies together once more.

Our breasts pressed against one another, skin to skin, her warmth wrapping around me like a cocoon. Then I felt it—the tip of her cock searching, nudging against my entrance. She kissed me softly as she pushed forward, inch by inch, stretching me slowly.

I gasped into her mouth, unused to the intrusion, but the pleasure that followed drowned out the discomfort. She was patient, her hands stroking my sides, whispering sweet affirmations against my lips. When she finally bottomed out, hitting my cervix, I knew she still had more to give. The thought made me blush, the fullness making me ache in the best way.

She kissed me again before beginning to move, her hips rolling slow, controlled, drawing herself almost all the way out before sliding back in. I whimpered, overwhelmed by the sheer size of her, by the sensation of being stretched so deliciously full.

"That's it, baby~." she whispered, pulling away just enough so I could see her—her bare chest rising and falling with her breaths, her flushed skin, the desire etched across her face.

And she kept going.

Each thrust was a study in sensuality. She fucked me with intention, like every movement was poetry, and I was the story being written. I moaned freely, calling her name, begging, praising, pleading.

Her hands found mine and intertwined our fingers. She leaned down, forehead pressed against mine, fucking me deeper with every stroke. My body shook, wrung out by climax after climax, until my mind was blank and my soul was singing.

She didn’t stop.

Time lost meaning again. Hours passed. My voice broke from moaning, my body coated in sweat and her love. My stomach was bloated, her cum painting me inside and out. She gave everything to me, and still, she held more.

Finally, when I could no longer move, she slowed, her body curling protectively around mine. She kissed my cheeks, my eyelids, the tip of my nose. Her arms wrapped around me like a lover shielding their most precious treasure.

"I love you..." I whispered, the words slipping out as the darkness of sleep started to pull me under.

And just before I drifted away, I heard her voice, low and true, "I love you, too."

And I believed her.

{Zani's POV}{18+}

Leaving a trail of kisses upon Glynda, I purred in delight. My little Witch, so needy and mine.

The warmth of the morning light filtered in through the curtains, casting golden rays upon her skin—still flushed from the hours before. I lingered over her collarbone, the scent of sweat and sex still lingering in the air, and dragged my lips down to her chest with a reverence that bordered on worship. Glynda shivered beneath me, her breath hitching as my hands roamed slowly, deliberately, committing every inch of her to memory.

My little Witch, so needy and mine.

She looked so beautiful like this—her golden locks spread out on the pillow, her body marked with my love, her lips parted in a soft moan as I trailed down. The night had broken something loose within her, something untamed and hungry. Something I recognized and claimed.

Upon waking up, we had gone for more rounds. I fucked her relentlessly on the bed, on the couch, on the windowsill. Glynda was insatiable. It seems the previous night has awakened something within her.

And oh, how she wanted more. From the moment her eyes opened, hazy and needy, she'd practically pulled me on top of her again. I took her where she wanted—where I wanted. Bent over the edge of the bed, with her fingers clawing at the mattress. On the couch, her legs draped over my shoulders as I drove myself into her. Even pressed against the cold glass of the windowsill, Glynda took me in every position I offered, moaning like a song only I could hear.

"Kneel." I commanded her, and Glynda, slick with sweat and my cum, obeyed.

She dropped with a grace that belied her desperation, knees meeting the floor as she gazed up at me, pupils blown wide. Her lips were already glistening with need, a mixture of desire and submission that made my cock twitch.

"Open your mouth."

And she did. Eagerly, without hesitation. Her breath ghosted over the tip of my cock, and I felt myself pulse at the sight of her—kneeling, obedient, and so fucking sexy I had to resist the urge to just fuck her throat raw.

"My Glynda... My Witch..."

I spoke the words in a purr, brushing her hair back gently. My palm settled on the back of her head, guiding her with a touch both possessive and careful. I could feel the pulse of restraint in my core, the hunger held back by only the thinnest threads of control. She was still new to this, still finding her rhythm.

It took everything within me not to start plowing into her mouth relentlessly, but I had to remind myself that Glynda was inexperienced, despite her age. Too focused on work. Too focused on fighting a war the larger world was unaware of.

She was a woman of duty, of discipline. And yet, here she was—undone by me. My little contradiction. My sweet paradox. The General, now my kneeling, moaning plaything.

"Keep your mouth open as wide as possible, and don't worry about your teeth."

Her lips widened, a flicker of apprehension gone the moment I whispered reassurance in her ear. One of the many pros of Aura, I didn't need to worry about my dick getting bitten off. In fact, it actually added an edge. That little danger made my heart race.

"That's it, baby~. Use your tongue."

She obeyed beautifully. Her tongue flicked and swirled, tentative but eager, and I rewarded her with soft moans of my own. I guided her head, slow and steady, letting her get used to the shape and size of me. Her saliva coated me, and the slick, wet sounds of her mouth wrapped around my cock only deepened the haze of pleasure.

I kept pulling Glynda's head back and forth, slowly, to get her used to my size and length. I couldn't have her deepthroat me yet, but this was enough.

Watching her eyes flutter shut, cheeks hollowing, I felt the swell of climax coil tightly within me. Her lips, her mouth—it was bliss. My fingers tightened slightly in her hair.

Eventually, I felt my cum churning, so I warned my lover, "Take it, my love~. Take my cum!"

The words came out raw and low. And when I came, it was with a guttural groan, my essence spilling into her mouth, onto her face—thick, hot, and unrelenting. I then let it all out, painting her mouth white, followed by her face. Grinning, I watched as I showered Glynda with buckets of my cum, and she took it all in stride, even looking enchanted by it.

She blinked up at me, tongue darting out to catch what she could. Cum dripped from her chin, smeared across her cheekbones like a divine marking. Her beauty had never been more blasphemous, and I loved it.

As my dick twitched, I got on my knees as well, before my tongue plunged into her mouth.

I kissed her deeply, our tongues tangling in the thick remnants of my orgasm. I played with my own cum inside her mouth, tasting it, tasting her. The combination was addictive. She gasped, a soft whimper escaping her lips, and I swallowed it with a smirk.

I played with my own cum within her lips, and before she knew it, I sucked them all in, earning a pout from the woman. Smirking, I leaned to her ear and whispered, "Don't worry, my little Witch~. There's more where that came from~."

Her pout deepened, and I couldn't help but press my lips against her forehead in fondness. She wanted more. I could see it in the way her legs twitched, in the way her eyes followed the movement of my hand.

I wanted to do more. To keep on fucking my newest lover, and Glynda looked just as ready as I was. Unfortunately, we didn't have much time.

The cruel reality of obligations loomed over us like a wet blanket. "Though it would need to be on another day. We still have work to do, Glynda." My voice was gentle but firm, each word careful, truthful—always.

This reminder caused Glynda to pout, and I just chuckled before giving her a deep kiss once again.

Ah, the trials of responsibility. Even now, with our bodies still tingling from pleasure, the world outside demanded attention. Even Sundays are not exempt of work.

"Of course, before we get to it, why don't we have some fun while we shower~?"

She lit up at that, eyes gleaming like a child offered sweets. Her eagerness was endearing, and I took her hand, leading her to the bathroom.

When I pulled her into the shower, where we spent an hour of fucking under the water, we came out happy.

Warm droplets rained down as I pressed her against the tiled wall, lips locked in a breathless kiss. My hands slid along her curves, fingers spreading her open once more, and I took her again with slow, rolling thrusts that echoed with the sound of water and moans.

Every stroke was worship, every kiss a promise. I fucked her through steam and heat, her body arching and shivering with every climax I pulled from her. She cried out my name, her voice echoing in the small space like a prayer.

Kissing her on her cheek, Glynda bid her goodbye.

Her departure was reluctant, and her cheeks were tinged red when she finally dressed. "I-...I'll see you again on Tuesday, Zani." Her voice was soft, uncertain.

It was cute how embarrassed she looked when we were now fully clothed, but I just chuckled. "See you again on Tuesday, love~."

I waved, watching her leave with a satisfied smile. Now, with Glynda leaving and my mark slowly claiming her as truly mine, I had some work to do.

Her scent lingered in the room, mingling with mine. My cock ached, but my heart was light. Soon enough, I would have her again.

And next time?

There would be no restraint.

I'm honestly grateful—truly, deeply glad—that I chose [Mystic Tattoo] as my [Binding] method. It was, in hindsight, not just clever but elegant. Who would ever suspect that the tattoos I so innocently adorned others with were the very instruments of their unknowing submission? No one. Not a soul. And that’s what made it beautiful. I could continue [Capturing] people into my web without scrutiny, spinning a net so fine it was practically invisible to the world.

It’s also why my businesses thrive with such unnatural ease. There’s no chaos, no betrayal, no HR headaches. Every single one of my employees has been [Captured], turned into my loyal [Devotees], and in that, they are bound to serve with unwavering loyalty. No petty insubordination, no greedy ambitions. Just devotion. Pure, unwavering devotion. It’s honestly made managing my businesses laughably simple. I delegate freely, and with full trust, because betrayal is no longer on the table.

The White Fang, too, has never been more united. Every single member in the Vale branch is one of my [Devotees], and because of that, internal sabotage is nothing more than a distant memory, if even that. I don’t need to watch my back—I just have to make sure the logistics run smoothly and that our public image remains presentable. That’s it. Sienna and Kali, though powerful in their own right, are far more effective now that they don’t have to deal with dissent. My [Devotees] ensure that the engine of the organization purrs like a well-fed beast.

Honestly, the sheer amount of freedom this has given me is astonishing. Juggling three major roles—assistant Combat Instructor at Beacon, Lieutenant of the White Fang, and a business owner with multiple ventures—should be a near-impossible task. For anyone else, it might’ve been. But for me? Not so much. My [Talents] give me an inherent edge, a natural efficiency that makes what others would call a burden feel like an afternoon stretch. And then there’s the advantage of delegation—why stretch myself thin when I have an army of competent, loyal [Devotees] ready and willing to execute my will?

And I mean, really, more agents should consider [Capturing] extras for this very reason. It's not just about power or control—it’s convenience. Utter, luxurious convenience. I have [Devotees] acting as business managers, skilled administrators who don't require supervision. In the White Fang, while Sienna and Kali shine on their own, having the entire Vale branch under my command only makes their jobs easier, lightening their burdens with my invisible hand. My loves benefit, and I gain efficiency. It’s mutually beneficial—if you squint a little and ignore the ethics of it all.

If I’m being honest, most of my time and attention ends up being poured into my job at Beacon, as assistant Combat Instructor. And even then, I don’t carry the bulk of the responsibilities. That falls to Glynda. I only need to be present three days a week. The rest of my schedule? Gloriously open. And what do I do with all that free time? I train. Relentlessly. I may be stronger than most, but complacency has always been a weakness I refuse to entertain.

With [Martial Talent] and [Soul Talent] both surging through my veins, along with countless months of intensive self-discipline, I’ve become something beyond ordinary. I can lift a bullhead clean off the ground, fight across multiple martial arts with lethal efficiency, and dash twenty meters in the blink of an eye. I am a beast, in all the best ways—unstoppable, ever-improving, tireless. And it’s not all just talent or brute strength. No. I made sure my growth was deliberate, my path sharpened like a blade honed to perfection.

Of course, [The Company] produces monsters, and I don't claim to be an exception. Terrifying, yes. But I’ll admit—reaching this point required more than just skill. It took careful planning and, admittedly, a stroke of luck. My first fortunate break? Being placed in Menagerie, near the "peaceful" branch of the White Fang, just a few months before the RWBY plot began. Right place, right time. And with that head start, I was able to start laying the foundation for my eventual influence.

My [Talents] did the rest. Through battle, I proved my prowess, drawing attention like moths to flame. Through words, I sowed the seeds of my ideology within Sienna’s mind, letting my voice linger in her thoughts long after I left the room. Slowly, methodically, my presence became a fixture, my suggestions transforming into core tenets. I rooted myself into the organization not as a parasite, but as a quiet force that elevated everyone around me—at least, that’s how it appeared.

Luck came again and again. I was fortunate in encounters, in timing, in the right allies at the right time. But I never wasted it. I played my hand with precision, whispering just the right things into the ears of those I pursued, tempting them with dreams and assurances laced in silver. Each victory was a thread in the web I wove, a web that now spans factions, cities, and hearts.

Of course, pursuing others always came with risk. Not everyone could be [Captured] immediately. Some required games, subtle dances of desire and dominance. But that was part of the thrill. The chase. And when I succeeded—and I always did—the satisfaction was indescribable.

Did I need to turn every woman I set my eyes on into a [Companion]? Not necessarily. Originally, I hadn’t even intended to claim Sienna as such. A [Devotee], yes—that had been the plan. But the more time I spent with her, the more I found myself drawn to her spark, her fire. She intrigued me, captivated me, and before I knew it, I had grown attached. Love? Yes. Eventually, it bloomed, uninvited and warm.

The pattern repeated. First with Sienna. Then Kali. Now, Glynda. I hadn’t planned for it, but there it was—inevitable. Genuine affection, not just strategic alignment. Even Cinder and Emerald, while their dynamics are... different, aren’t wholly exempt from that gravitational pull. I won’t pretend to be surprised anymore. That old version of me, the one who never thought she’d feel such things? She’s gone. Buried under layers of change and quiet revelation.

It was then I realized something fundamental: the core of this behavior, these attachments, came from my [Inner Animal]. It’s both the worst and the best of me, magnified. I am more possessive than I ever realized. Those who capture my attention inevitably become mine, even if they don’t know it at first. And once someone is mine? That’s it. Forever. No exceptions. No take-backs.

And it just so happens that those I am drawn to... are all prominent players. Main cast, central figures. Perhaps that’s coincidence. Perhaps not. Either way, the pattern remains. I may be lenient with my [Devotees], letting them live their lives under my command, but my [Inner Animal] has deeper needs. It craves a pack. A vast, tightly-knit collective where loyalty is intimate, not just organizational. And you know what? I’ve come to embrace that.

I won’t stop. Blake, Sienna, Glynda, Cinder, Emerald—they’re not the end. They’re just the beginning. Everyone I set my eyes on, everyone who stirs that instinct within me, will eventually join the fold. My fold. I’ll have them all, patiently, methodically. There’s no rush. After all, everything worthwhile takes time and work. I have both.

This world rewards those who dare to shape it with their own hands. I just happen to be very good at shaping.

Chapter Text

{Cinder's POV}

It had been several days since the two-day limit Zani had given us expired, and just as she predicted, I could feel it — that growing, humming strength beneath my skin. It hadn’t come like a bolt of lightning or an instant transformation like I’d hoped. Instead, it had been a slow, simmering build-up, each hour layering new understanding over the old. My control over my Aura had sharpened, precise and powerful. I no longer had to think about how to channel it — my body simply knew. My Semblance responded as though we were one entity, no longer a tool I wielded but an extension of myself.

What surprised me most was how I’d begun to deconstruct and reconstruct my own fighting style. I found cracks where I once saw invincibility, saw new possibilities where before I’d seen limits. And I wasn't the only one — a late-night talk with Emerald confirmed she was experiencing similar revelations. Zani hadn’t lied. Her promises, as outlandish as they sounded, held truth. A rare thing these days.

But promises came with prices.

And since I was now acting as Zani’s subordinate — no, her chosen — I had responsibilities. Which meant I had to explain Mercury’s sudden disappearance. Bastard might have just been hired muscle, but the moment we confirmed Zani was legit, he fucked right off without a word. Cowardly, traitorous shit. If I ever saw him again, I’d cut off his balls and feed them to him.

His departure didn’t wound me emotionally. I wasn’t foolish enough to get attached to someone like him. But that kind of betrayal? It had to be answered. Actions needed consequences.

"Good evening, Cinder~."

Her voice sent a shiver down my spine. I hated that it did — hated that just hearing her say my name made my stomach tighten. There was something in her voice, like velvet wrapping around a dagger. It wasn’t fear like with Salem. Zani’s presence didn’t crush you beneath it — it lured you in, curled around you like smoke, warm and intoxicating.

I straightened, trying to hide the way her voice curled under my skin. "Like you asked, we’ve come."

It took every ounce of control I had to keep my tone neutral. After the initial meeting, we’d followed her instructions to wait a few more days before returning. Let the new power settle, she’d said. And now, here we were.

"And as punctual as ever~. I like that, Cinder~."

Her smile was devastating. Not cruel, but knowing. I averted my gaze, glancing toward Emerald, only to see her doing the same. At least I wasn’t alone in feeling... whatever this was. That creeping heat, the heavy air that lingered whenever Zani was near.

"Anyway," she continued, shifting gracefully in her chair, "I wanted to ask — you’ve had dealings with Roman Torchwick and his ilk, yes?"

I turned to face her sharply, caught off-guard. The question was simple, but the implication was far deeper. She knew. Somehow, she knew I had hired Roman, or at the very least, worked closely with him.

"We have." I replied carefully, refusing to show weakness.

She nodded, a slow, elegant movement that made the silk of her bathrobe shift dangerously low. Her robe wasn’t just revealing — it was deliberate, almost ceremonial. Loose enough to tempt, secure enough to infuriate. My eyes betrayed me before I could stop them, trailing down to where the fabric clung to her chest, the swell of her breasts barely concealed. It was maddening.

I wanted to say something. Something biting. Something that would let her know this was unprofessional — but the words never left my lips. Zani was in control here. Whether I liked it or not.

"Good. And I assume you can still call upon his services?"

She rose to her feet, and the robe slipped from one shoulder like an afterthought. More skin. More scent. That heady, impossible perfume that curled into my lungs and refused to leave.

I nodded again, my voice caught somewhere between my tongue and throat. I didn’t trust myself to speak. She stepped closer, unhurried, like a lioness who knew her prey wouldn’t dare run.

"That’s good. What I want you to do for me, my little beauty..."

Her fingers brushed my bare shoulder, dancing there, light as smoke. My body reacted instinctively — heat blooming below, tension tightening across my stomach.

"...is to bring him to me. Here. Tomorrow night. Same time."

She moved behind me, her warmth pressing into my back. I felt the soft press of her breasts, pillowy and deliberate, and my cock twitched in response. She whispered, voice like silk wrapped around fire.

"Do that... and I’ll be sure to reward you. I did say I would be a better leader than dear old Salem, didn’t I? And I always keep my promises."

Another shiver. This one, I couldn’t hide.

"You too, my little chocolate goodie. I haven’t forgotten about you."

I heard Emerald’s breath hitch beside me. I didn’t need to look to know she was affected — probably worse than me. Zani stepped forward again, and my gaze, traitorous as ever, fell to the deep line of her cleavage. It wasn’t even subtle. She wanted us to look.

"That will be all for now. Go, darlings~. And remember, if you please me, I’ll make sure you’re pleased as well~."

That was all I needed. I nodded stiffly, turning to leave with Emerald quick behind me. The door clicked shut, and I didn’t mention the way Emerald’s breathing still hadn’t calmed. I didn’t blame her. My mind was still swirling — the weight of Zani’s touch, the scent of her, the sound of her voice.

Whatever reward she promised… part of me was already wondering what it might feel like.

As we stepped out into the corridor leading back to our quarters, Emerald finally broke the silence.

"Did she... always sound like that? Or is it getting worse?"

"Worse," I muttered, dragging a hand down my face. "And she knows exactly what she's doing."

"You don't say. I felt like I was melting when she touched my arm."

I glanced at her sideways. Emerald's cheeks were flushed, her lips parted slightly, still trying to catch her breath. My own body hadn't fully settled either, the tension lingering like a coil in my gut.

"We need to stay focused," I said, more to myself than to her. "Zani’s dangerous. Not in the way Salem was — but... different."

Emerald nodded, eyes distant. "She makes you want to listen. Even when you know you shouldn't."

Exactly.

The rest of the walk was silent, but the air between us was thick with unspoken tension. We were both playing with fire, and Zani knew it.

And she was loving every moment.

Back in my chambers, I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at nothing. The plan was simple: reach out to Roman. Get him here. Easy enough.

But even as I thought about the task, my mind kept drifting back to the way Zani's fingers had trailed across my skin. The way her breasts felt against my back. The way her lips curled when she said my name.

She wasn’t Salem.

No, Zani was something else entirely.

And I didn’t know if I was going to survive her.

{Ruby's POV}

It was honestly kinda hilarious how everyone thought I was just sweet, innocent little Ruby. Cute, harmless Ruby Rose. I didn't really mind. Not at all, actually. It worked in my favor more often than not. People didn’t curse around me, adults gave me those condescendingly warm smiles, and best of all? I got free cookies out of it. Who could complain about that?

Being underestimated had its perks. Especially in Beacon, where drama was practically a second curriculum. Everyone was so busy trying to look cool or mysterious or sexy that no one noticed me just quietly watching from the background. They thought I was just the hyperactive scythe nerd who liked weapons and sweets. I let them think that. It gave me the perfect vantage point to see how messy, tangled, and, honestly, stupid everyone was being about their feelings.

Beacon wasn't just a school. It was a full-blown romantic comedy with fight scenes. A living, breathing, chaotic series of will-they-won’t-theys, emotionally charged glances, and awkward confessions that always ended with someone either blowing something up or running away. Usually both.

Take Yang, for example. Blonde, bombastic, boobs-for-days Yang. Everyone thought she was this wild party girl who flirted with anyone that breathed near her. And she did flirt. A lot. Especially with Blake. But the moment Blake actually responded? Like, even gave her a sultry look or said something teasing? Yang would panic and vanish like she’d set off a fire alarm. Classic.

And the best part? For all the talk, for all the swagger, Yang was still a virgin. Le Gasp. I know, right? Shocking. I only knew because one night she got drunk off that terrible peach schnapps and cried to me about how her latest ex-boyfriend ditched her just when things were heating up. Like, right when they were about to do it. Did I want to know that? No. Did I now possess that cursed knowledge? Absolutely.

But that wasn’t even the juiciest part. The real show was Blake and Weiss. Goddess above, the tension between those two was thick enough to slice with Ember Celica. Blake didn’t openly flirt with Weiss, but she didn’t have to. It was the looks, the lingering touches, the way they’d lock eyes for just a second too long. They were trying to pretend they weren’t thinking about each other in very non-platonic ways, but I could see it.

And Weiss? Ice Queen my ass. She was melting. Trying so hard to keep up that cold, dignified exterior, but I could tell. Oh, I could tell. Especially since she was terrible at hiding her… private time. You know. Her alone time. I mean, she tried. Lights off, voice muffled, subtle noises—but c’mon. I'm not stupid. I heard her whisper Blake’s name more than once. [Schnee-brand frustration intensifies.]

Actually, considering Blake’s a faunus, I wouldn’t be surprised if she heard it, too. Night vision, enhanced hearing... kind of hard to play coy when your crush has the senses of a jungle cat. Not that she’s doing much about it. Blake’s whole strategy seems to be “vibe attractively and see who bites.”

Though, if I’m being honest—which I always am, thank you very much—Blake seems completely flustered when it comes to me. She said once, seriously, that she wanted to chase after us romantically. The team. Which was bold. But then? Nothing. With Yang, she flirts and teases. With Weiss, she gives those unreadable smirks and occasionally brushes hands when passing by. But with me? She’s stuck. She doesn’t know how to approach me, and that makes it all the more fun.

Because here’s the thing: I may be the youngest, but I’m not naive. People assume I’m all sugar and sparkle, but that’s just the packaging. Yang gave me unrestricted internet access when I was a kid to keep me busy, and, well… let’s just say I’ve seen things. Read things. Watched things. I am very aware of what I like, who I like, and how I like it. And as it turns out? I’m down for the whole harem setup. With my team. Yes, including Yang.

Before you freak out—no, we’re not blood related. Half-sisters at best. Technicalities matter. And besides, it’s hotter that way. The forbidden fruit always tastes sweeter, right?

So while Blake sits there unsure of how to make her move, and Weiss tries to pretend she doesn’t dream of being pinned down by a certain catgirl, and Yang keeps running from her feelings with the speed of someone being chased by a Nevermore—I wait. Patient. Quiet. Observing. And when the moment comes? I’ll be the one ready with all the toys, lube, and condoms. Mostly for me, anyway. I’m the only futanari on the team, after all.

Yes, I checked. Weiss and Blake? Totally standard. Yang and I took baths together when we were little, so that one’s obvious. Me? A surprise gift from the universe, apparently. Not that I’m complaining.

But as much as I adore my team’s slow-burning sexual chaos, there’s someone else who’s been invading my thoughts lately. Someone I really shouldn’t be thinking about like that, but here we are.

Professor Zani.

She’s just... gods. Everything. Tall, elegant, those horns that curl just right, the tail that flicks when she’s irritated, her tattoos. That smoky voice. And don’t even get me started on her mecha-shift weapon. Watching her fight was like watching a symphony made of blades and raw dominance. She had this dark, gothic vibe with that faint infernal twist that made my knees weak.

If I had a type—and let’s be real, I do—she was it, multiplied by a thousand. She didn’t even have to try. Just walking past me in the hallway was enough to short-circuit my brain. And I swear, there were times she looked at me with this faint smile, like she knew. Not the details, of course. Just that I was… different. Sharp under the soft. Coiled like a blade.

And maybe—just maybe—she liked that.

Of course, I couldn’t tell anyone. No one knew the half of what I thought, felt, or wanted. They couldn’t. My role was too well established. Cute little Ruby. Eager leader. Sweetheart of the team. But one day, when the stars align and the world’s just right? I’ll be in her harem too.

And no one will be able to say they didn’t see it coming. Because I never told anyone. Not once. Not about who I am, what I want, or what I plan to do. I just let people hear what they wanted to hear, and never bothered to correct them.

Let them think I’m just the mascot.

They’ll learn soon enough who’s really pulling the strings.

After all, cookies taste sweeter when they’re earned through misdirection.

{Glynda's POV}

Looking at the womb tattoo that I sported—glowing faintly beneath my skin like an ember in the twilight—I have to admit, it really grew on me. When I first got it, I was stunned. I mean, who wouldn't be? One day you're a respected huntress and teacher, and the next, you're the magically bound partner of an interdimensional slave trader. The revelation that I was Zani's in both body and soul, quite literally at that, hit me like a freight train. And the kicker? She was entangled in some kind of omnipotent slave traffickers. Forced into it, no less. It should have shattered me, should have made me spiral, but I came to terms with it far quicker than I expected.

There was, of course, the feeling of betrayal. How could there not be? To discover the woman you loved had been hiding so much... it stung. But then there she was, wooing me relentlessly like some smirking, smug cat with a shiny toy. Zani never begged, no—it wasn't her style—but she had this way of speaking, this undeniable pull, and a kind of sincerity laced in every word she said. Even when she danced around the truth, there was no deception. Just layers of truth waiting to be unwrapped. And stars help me, I couldn't stay mad at her.

Besides, who could deny the benefits? It had only been a few days since everything came to light, and already, my Aura had sharpened, and my Semblance had evolved in ways I didn't think possible. There was a noticeable clarity in my thoughts now, like fog lifting after years of stumbling. I was stronger—not just physically, but spiritually. And, oh, yeah... I was immortal now. Immortal. That one's still hard to wrap my head around, so I don't really try to. Some thoughts are best left untouched.

But of all the revelations Zani dropped on me like thunderbolts, the most shocking was how much she knew. Things she shouldn’t have known. Things kept under lock and key by the highest echelons of power. Ozpin and Salem. Their eternal war. The history woven into the very fabric of Remnant. Somehow, Zani was aware of all of it. And yet, when I pressed her for more details, she demurred, a wistful glint in her eye, and gave me a look that made it clear: she wouldn't lie, but she wouldn't tell me everything either.

Still, she offered something. A promise. She'd already captured two of Salem's underlings, and she was slowly working her way into the dark queen's inner circle. I wanted to tell Ozpin. Stars, I needed to tell Ozpin. But Zani was firm on that front. Not yet, she'd said. Not now. If Ozpin knew what she knew, it would shatter the fragile trust she was slowly nurturing. He'd fight her, not with fists or weapons, but with suspicion and strategy. She wasn't wrong. Ozpin, for all his wisdom, was paranoid. And who could blame him? The man had lived through centuries of betrayal and heartbreak.

She did promise, though, that the secrecy wouldn't last forever. Just long enough to secure her position and earn Ozpin's trust. And oddly enough, it seemed to be working. The fact that Zani was managing to charm him faster than I ever did—and it took me four years to get into his circle—was telling.

But for now, I was content. More than content, actually. I was happy. Genuinely, almost giddily happy. I had power. I had a lover who stirred things in me I hadn't even known existed. And I was building new bonds, strengthening old ones, and... well, exploring new aspects of myself.

"Care for another cup of coffee?" Sienna asked, her voice low and sultry, paired with a radiant smile that held just a bit too much heat for such an innocent question.

"Thank you, Sienna." I replied, handing over my cup with a faint, knowing smirk. Her fingers brushed mine, lingering just a heartbeat too long. Deliberate. Calculated. Teasing. I swallowed the rising warmth in my chest.

This—she—was also a reason why I was in such high spirits. Just because I belonged to Zani didn’t mean I couldn’t explore other connections. Zani had made that explicitly clear. Her harem was a place of shared love and strength, not restriction. And as much as I adored Zani, I was quickly discovering a different kind of affection growing for Sienna.

I had spent the day with her, ostensibly to get to know my fellow harem members better. But, truthfully, I had been curious about her since the moment we met. The infamous leader of the White Fang, a woman with a voice like velvet and eyes that could cut. Our conversations started formal, but it didn’t take long before we were tangled in sheets, limbs knotted in desperate need.

It had been... intense. Primal. Everything I didn’t know I was missing. Her body was all fire and ferocity, but her touch had surprising tenderness. When our breaths finally settled and the sweat cooled on our skin, we didn’t speak for a while. We just... were. Comfortable silence.

Now, hours later, we were seated side by side in a quiet corner, each doing our own work. I was writing reports for Ozpin—half-truths and curated updates about Zani’s integration into our ranks. She was reviewing strategies for the White Fang’s humanitarian efforts, her demeanor focused yet relaxed. Every so often, our legs would brush, and we’d exchange sly little smiles.

"You moan like a songbird, you know." Sienna said casually, not even looking up from her tablet.

I nearly choked on my coffee. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. It was rather musical. Almost makes me want to record it. For posterity."

I arched a brow, setting my mug down slowly. "Are you implying you'd like a repeat performance?"

"I'm stating it outright," she replied, finally meeting my eyes with a wicked grin. "Though I wouldn’t mind changing the tempo. Something slower. More deliberate. Less clawing, more savoring."

I rolled my eyes, but my cheeks flushed with heat. "You’re incorrigible."

"And yet, you're still sitting here, blushing like a schoolgirl."

She wasn't wrong. There was a thrill to being around her, a sharpness that Zani didn’t have. Zani was like gravity—inevitable, irresistible. Sienna was like fire—dangerous, but warming. And stars, I was starting to fall for her.

I hated how easy it was. How natural it felt. Sienna, for all her boldness, had moments of surprising vulnerability. Like the way she bit her lip when she thought too hard. Or the way she kept glancing at me when she thought I wasn’t looking. Like she didn’t believe I could genuinely like her beyond the sex. But I did. More than I expected.

"You’re thinking too hard again," she murmured, setting her tablet aside. "Is this about Zani?"

"No. Well, yes. But not in the way you're thinking."

Sienna leaned in, her voice a whisper. "Then tell me."

I met her gaze, steady and sure. "I'm starting to like you more than I expected to, I think."

That made her pause. The smirk softened. Her fingers reached out, gently taking mine.

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

"It's complicated," I said. "This whole thing... it's not something I ever imagined I'd be part of."

"Neither did I," she said quietly. "But here we are. And I'm not going anywhere."

We sat like that for a moment, the air thick with unspoken emotion. Then she leaned over and kissed my hand, slow and deliberate.

"We're both Zani's, but no one ever said we can only be just that." I stared into her eyes, watching them sparkle. "Plus, she'll love it when we all love one another, too."

The rest of the day passed in that quiet, glowing way that happens when two people begin to truly see one another. And though I didn’t say it aloud, in my heart, I knew. Zani had brought chaos and change into my life. But Sienna? Sienna was starting to bring balance. And love. Real, terrifying, beautiful love.

It was strange. Before Zani, I had thought that I would only be married to my work. But now? I was finding out that I had more love to give than I expected.

Chapter Text

{Zani's POV}

Tapping my foot against the polished obsidian floor, I kept my gaze locked on Roman Torchwick, who was doing his utmost to appear unaffected by my presence. His casual demeanor was a flimsy veneer—one I could see through with ease. Just as I had requested, Cinder and Emerald had delivered the infamous thieves of Vale directly to my office.

The two women now flanked me, each tucked neatly against my sides. My arms were draped around their waists like silk sashes, fingers teasing the sensitive space where clothing met skin. They tried—oh, how they tried—to look composed, but I could feel the way Emerald’s breath caught and Cinder’s muscles tensed under my touch. A delightful little power play, made more satisfying by their attempt to pretend otherwise.

Roman was lounging in the chair provided to him, hat tipped slightly back, a cigarette perched between two fingers he hadn’t quite managed to stop from twitching. Neo stood behind him, her mismatched eyes drifting across the room with a studied nonchalance. But there it was—a glimmer of intrigue, thinly veiled and pointed directly at me.

“So. You're the firecracker's boss, huh?” Roman finally said, his voice a lazy drawl, but the edge was unmistakable. “Gotta say, I didn’t expect it to be you.”

“Most people don’t,” I replied smoothly, allowing my fingers to idly trace the hem of Emerald’s open shirt, enjoying the flicker of discomfort she tried to suppress. “But here we are.”

He smirked, though the expression didn’t reach his eyes. “You asked for us. Can’t help but wonder why someone with your... resources would need a couple of street-level scoundrels like us.”

“Oh, I’m not in the habit of wasting time, Roman,” I said, voice rich with implication. “I have a particular interest in your talents. And I intend to put them to better use.”

Neo’s gaze sharpened slightly, while Roman cocked an eyebrow.

“Better use, huh? Well, I’ve never been known to turn down opportunity, especially when it walks in dressed like temptation and speaks like it owns the world.”

I chuckled, low and warm. “Flattery, Mr. Torchwick? Careful. That might earn you a favor you don’t know how to repay.”

Cinder shifted slightly under my arm, the heat of her body betraying how very aware she was of every syllable that left my lips. Emerald, for her part, kept her eyes down, though I could feel her lean ever so slightly into my touch. Sweet things. So eager for approval, yet still so afraid of being seen wanting.

“I want you to keep doing what you do best,” I said plainly. “Steal.”

Roman blinked. “You brought us all the way here just to tell us to keep robbing people?”

“Not people. Institutions. The Council, specifically. Their operations. Their storage vaults. Their trade routes.”

Now I had his full attention. The easy confidence in his expression faltered for the first time.

“That’s bold,” he said slowly. “We’re good—hell, we’re brilliant—but we don’t usually poke that particular hornet’s nest unless we have a damn good reason. Or a death wish.”

“I’m offering a reason,” I said, letting my tone take on a silken quality. “And insurance. You’ll be compensated handsomely. Lien, of course, but I have other treasures—trinkets—you won’t find on any open market.”

“Oh?” he asked, leaning forward slightly. “Do tell. I’ve always had a soft spot for shiny things.”

I smiled, slow and knowing. “What I offer is more than shiny, Roman. I can give you something no other soul in Remnant can: a permanent empowerment. Not some fleeting enhancement, not a temporary boost from Dust or tech—something far more... intimate. Something that becomes part of you.”

Roman laughed—sharp, incredulous. “You’re joking.”

“I never joke,” I replied, voice gentle but edged like a blade hidden in silk. “And I never make promises I can’t fulfill.”

Cinder shifted again, this time pressing subtly closer. I brushed a lock of hair behind her ear, an act tender enough to draw a slight hitch in her breath. Emerald swallowed beside me, her pulse fluttering under my fingertips like a bird’s wings.

Roman didn’t respond immediately. He studied me, trying to discern the trick, the angle. Neo, meanwhile, was watching not me, but the way I touched my companions—her interest keen, unflinching.

“You’re serious,” he finally said. Not a question.

“I am.”

“And what would this little... empowerment cost us?”

“Oh, just your loyalty. Your discretion. And your willingness to follow direction when the time comes.”

Roman whistled softly. “Loyalty’s expensive.”

“But not unattainable,” I countered. “Especially when I sweeten the deal. As a gesture of goodwill, I’ll grant the enhancement now. Free of charge. You’ll test it. See how it feels. And in two days’ time, once they've fully integrated, if you’re satisfied, we’ll talk about the future.”

“Sounds like a scam.” he muttered, but his eyes were hungry now. Greedy. Curious. Vulnerable.

I let my Semblance flare gently—a nudge, nothing more. Enough to dull the edge of doubt, to soften the resistance. Roman’s posture slackened slightly, just enough to confirm the effect.

“Very well,” he said, voice lower now. “Do... whatever it is you do. Let’s see what happens.”

“Excellent,” I purred, fingers now gliding along Cinder’s hip. She shivered beneath my touch, and I knew she was barely holding herself together. “You won’t regret this.”

Neo raised an eyebrow. She’d seen more than she let on—but she said nothing. Clever girl.

“I’ll hold you to that,” Roman said.

“Oh, please do.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was taut, electric—laced with unspoken questions and simmering desire. I let it linger as I rose from my seat, the weight of Cinder and Emerald pressing into me as I moved.

“Now then,” I said, brushing imaginary dust from my sleeve. “Let’s begin, shall we?”

The session was swift, deliberate. I drew upon my power with practiced ease, guiding the energy into them like pouring wine into eager glasses. Roman gritted his teeth through it, muscles taut, veins glowing faintly for a moment before dimming. 

When it was done, Roman exhaled sharply. “That felt... weird.”

“It will. For now,” I replied. “But give it time. Let it settle.”

Cinder, now pressed flush to my side, whispered near my ear, “You’re really going through with this?”

I smiled against her cheek. “Of course. A promise made is a promise kept.”

Emerald looked up at me, her expression caught somewhere between awe and unease.

“Don’t worry, little gem,” I whispered, brushing my lips against the crown of her head. “You’ll shine brighter than ever before.”

Behind us, Roman stood slowly, stretching his limbs with a wince.

“If this works, you’ll have our attention,” he said. “Hell, you’ll have more than that.”

“I already do. ” I replied, tone honey-slick.

"Now, time for the beauty's session." I then flit my eyes to Neo, the woman still silent throughout it all. 

"You don't mind leaving for now, right, Roman? A woman needs her privacy, after all." He raised an eyebrow at that, trying to discern whether there were any tricks behind my words, but a flare of my Semblance had him nodding. 

"Sure. Just make sure Neo comes back to me in one piece." With a wave of his hand, Roman left the room, leaving us four for a more...private session. 

{Neo's POV}

The Zani woman was strange. Sexy, but strange in a way that made the word feel insufficient. She was the kind of strange that stayed with you, even after the conversation ended. The kind that lingered on your tongue like the aftertaste of something too sweet and too sharp at once. She was a walking contradiction: part exhausted white-collar worker, part seductress in heels, part goth queen who looked like she thrived in dark corners and late-night confessions. Something about her reminded me of Roman—her words carefully chosen, her tone deliberate, always skating along the edge of saying too much or not enough. And yet, she had Cinder's presence, that powerful aura that didn’t need to be spoken aloud. Except, honestly, she outclassed Cinder in that department by a mile.

When Zani started speaking with Roman, I didn’t waste time. I used my Semblance, projecting a perfect illusion of myself standing casually behind him, a nonchalant observer with a curious tilt of the head. Meanwhile, my real body slipped silently around the room, eyes sharp and alert. This was her domain, and only fools walk blindly into a lair without checking for traps or exit routes. I wasn’t about to be caught slipping because some hot, intimidating woman batted her lashes while plotting our demise. Fuck that.

I scouted her office thoroughly. Every wall, every piece of furniture, every angle that could hide surveillance or an ambush point. Nothing. No poison vents, no hidden weapons, not even a trace of Dust signatures out of the ordinary. For someone so layered, her room was strangely honest. Or perhaps so well-disguised that even my eyes couldn’t catch it. I wasn’t sure which unnerved me more.

So I settled, keeping the illusion up while drifting closer. My real body slid along the shadows, eyes locked on her as she subtly engaged with Cinder and Emerald. That was when things got interesting.

Zani’s hands moved with confidence, precision, and just the right amount of indulgence. Her fingers traced Cinder’s waist like she owned it, lingering long enough to blur the line between professional and intimate. Emerald sat beside them, visibly tense but saying nothing, eyes flicking between her boss and her partner with a confusion she was clearly trying to suppress. And Cinder... the bitch was trying not to react. Her jaw was tight, shoulders stiff, but I could see the twitch in her fingers and the quickened breaths she was trying to disguise. Zani had her squirming, and not with fear.

I hadn’t expected Zani to be like that. I figured someone like her would be distant, impersonal, maybe aloof with a hint of sadism. But this? This slow, calculated teasing—borderline predatory, but oddly warm—was something else entirely. She knew what she was doing, and the tension it created rippled through the room like a current.

Watching it, I couldn't help but be drawn in. I’m not usually one to linger on that kind of thing—Cinder’s dramatics rarely do it for me—but Zani’s touch had a rhythm. Purpose. She didn’t need to fake dominance; it exuded from her. The way her fingers brushed over skin like they were claiming it. The slight arch of her brow when Cinder flinched, pretending not to. The hum of amusement that escaped her lips, subtle and loaded. Fuck. I couldn’t look away.

Then came the offer.

She wanted to empower us. Permanently. Roman and I exchanged glances—mutual skepticism written across both our faces. We’d heard of stuff like this before. Enhancement serums that made you burn out faster than a Dust-fueled rave. Atlas tech that turned you into more machine than person. Experimental Aura boosts with side effects that read like Grimm horror stories. We weren’t stupid. Gifts always come with a cost.

But the way Zani talked about it... she made it sound like a favor. Like she wasn’t trying to sell us something, just letting us in on a secret. Her words had weight, but not the kind that crushed you. They wrapped around your spine and made you lean forward, curious despite yourself. Every sentence she spoke walked the razor-thin line between truth and omission—but never a lie. Somehow, you could feel it. There was no deceit. Just... layers.

When she suggested a trial period, Roman raised a brow, clearly intrigued. I maintained my illusion behind him, then ghosted back into place with a subtle swap. No one noticed. Not even her.

We were surprised when she revealed the method: tattoos. Of all things. She gestured casually to a table where the tools were laid out, sanitized and waiting. It felt absurd. This woman, who looked like she could manipulate minds or command armies with a snap of her fingers, was offering permanent enhancements through something so simple.

But Zani made it feel like a ritual. Like the tattoo was more than just ink. Roman went first. He sat down with that guarded swagger he always wore around new players. I stood close, watching every movement. My eyes never left her hands as she worked—steady, unbothered, precise. Nothing flashy, nothing suspicious. Just clean strokes and steady breathing. A normal tattoo session. And yet, I couldn’t shake the sense that something deeper was happening.

When she finished, Roman flexed his wrist, inspecting the mark. I saw the shift in his expression—a flicker of something impressed. He didn’t say it aloud, of course. He never would. But I knew him. He was convinced, or was at least marveling at the woman's craft.

Then it was my turn.

Zani didn’t even wait for me to speak. She simply gestured for me to follow, her eyes glinting with a knowing spark that made my skin prickle. Roman, to his credit, stepped away without comment, though I caught the quick glance he shot at me. It wasn’t worry. It was curiosity.

I appreciated the privacy. There was a place I’d always wanted a tattoo—low, subtle, somewhere intimate enough that only someone I truly trusted or wanted would see it. I didn’t need Roman hovering over my shoulder for that.

Zani raised a brow when I pointed it out, but said nothing. Just nodded, her lips curling into a smile that felt like it saw right through me. She guided me onto the seat, her touch gentle, but deliberate. She didn’t ask if I was ready.

As her gloved fingers brushed over my skin, cleaning the area, marking it with slow, practiced strokes, I felt a flicker of something I couldn’t name. Not fear. Not arousal. Something more dangerous than either. Interest.

She didn’t speak much as she worked, just the occasional hum or soft instruction. Her fingers were steady, her presence grounding. But there was tension in the air. Not hostile. Not even cautious. Just thick. Like static before a storm.

From where I lay, I could still see Cinder and Emerald watching. Cinder looked irritated, but I saw the flush in her cheeks, the twitch in her jaw. She hated not being in control, and Zani had her dancing like a puppet with barely any strings. Emerald looked... confused. Maybe conflicted. Like she didn’t know whether she wanted to intervene or join in.

Zani didn’t comment. But I saw the way her eyes flicked over them now and then, assessing, amused. She enjoyed the effect she had. And not in the way narcissists do. It was deeper. Like she was tuning an instrument no one else could hear.

When she finished, she pressed a cloth over the mark and held it there a moment longer than necessary, her fingers brushing mine. She leaned in close, breath warm near my ear, and said, "There. You wear it well."

I didn’t respond. I didn’t need to. But when I met her eyes again, I let the corner of my mouth twitch upward.

Strange woman.

Sexy as hell.

And definitely not someone to underestimate.

{Cinder's POV}{18+}

Once Neo left, proudly showing off the fresh tramp stamp now etched onto her lower back, the energy in the room immediately shifted. A heavy silence fell, charged and humming like the moments before a thunderstorm. I glanced toward Zani, trying not to flinch, trying not to look too eager—or too unsure. Her eyes were already on me, and the smug curve on her lips only deepened.

"Now that they're gone~, what do you think about receiving your reward now~?" she asked, her voice sweet and venomous, like honey laced with something dangerous.

I swallowed, hard. The glint in her eyes was almost predatory, and it made my skin prickle in a way that was both thrilling and unsettling. "N-now!?" I managed to say, feeling a flush rise to my cheeks.

Emerald, beside me, was visibly flustered too. Her face burned crimson as Zani slipped off her long coat with a slow, teasing grace. "Why, yes~," she replied, as though it were obvious. "You did exactly what I asked of you... Wouldn't it be cruel not to properly reward my loyal girls~?"

I'd tried to convince myself—right up to this moment—that the 'reward' could be something else. Something safer. Something professional. But there was no point in lying to myself now. Not when Zani was already undoing the buttons of her blouse, one by one, revealing skin like pale moonlight and cleavage that commanded worship.

"Though, who goes first, is the question~?" Her tongue ran slowly across her lips, and the sight sent a shudder down my spine, my cock twitching in anticipation.

"Or maybe~, you both want to receive your reward at the same time~?" She glanced between us, and I followed her gaze straight to the bulge growing in Emerald's pants.

The sound of shifting fabric made me look back just in time to see Zani fully naked, her body unveiled like some kind of divine weapon—beautiful, untouchable, and utterly overwhelming. I couldn't look away.

"No answer~? Well then, I’ll make the choice for you~."

Without waiting, she knelt before us with the grace of someone completely in control. I barely managed a gasp when her fingers brushed the hem of my dress, lifting it smoothly, almost reverently. Then she slipped my panties to the side. My cock sprang free, aching, as Zani simultaneously tugged down Emerald’s pants and underwear, releasing her already hard dick.

"Mmm~. So big~." she purred, eyes half-lidded as she took in the sight before her.

Then her hand wrapped around my cock, fingers firm and warm. My breath caught in my throat. Her other hand reached out to Emerald, who jolted slightly at the contact, a whimper escaping her lips.

"Now then. Let's begin, shall we~?"

The moment her mouth closed around the head of my cock, I nearly collapsed. It was heat and wetness and tightness, all working together in maddening harmony. Zani moved slowly at first, each inch she took into her mouth more torturous than the last. Her throat opened easily for me, accepting all eight inches until her lips pressed flush against my pelvis.

I groaned, lost to the sensation. I’d been on both ends of this kind of play before, especially with Emerald—it was a way to maintain control, keep her loyal. But this? This was something else. Zani didn’t just suck cock—she worshipped it, consumed it like it was the only thing that mattered.

She pulled back slowly, letting every ridge and vein of my shaft drag along her tongue, before plunging back in. I couldn't hold it—wouldn't have even if I could. My climax hit fast, sudden, and overwhelming, my cock buried deep in her throat as I came. Her throat flexed, and yet she didn’t pull away—only eased back slightly, just enough to keep my tip in her mouth. Then her tongue swirled around the sensitive head, and she sucked, coaxing out every last drop of my cum.

"Za-Zani~!" I cried, breathless.

She pulled off with a wet pop, her lips swollen and glistening, before opening her mouth and showing me the load she'd just swallowed. Then, slowly, she smiled.

"Delicious~."

And just like that, she turned her attention to Emerald.

Watching her go down on my partner was like being hit with another wave of heat. Emerald moaned immediately as Zani took her into her mouth, all seven inches vanishing like it was nothing. Her throat bulged slightly, lips wrapped tight around the base, and her hands never stopped—one worked Emerald’s shaft while the other returned to my now-sensitive, twitching cock.

I hissed, the overstimulation delicious and maddening. Her fingers played me like a finely-tuned instrument, coaxing another rise from me.

Emerald, unlike me, was vocal.

"Oh! Oh~! Boss! Deeper! Please~!"

I couldn’t take it. I surged forward and kissed her, silencing her cries with my mouth. Our tongues tangled desperately, the moment hot and chaotic. We'd kissed before, yes—but never like this. Never with another's mouth wrapped around us both, never with us groaning into each other’s mouths as Zani drove us higher.

And somehow, we both felt it coming—our release. We tensed at the same time, moaning into each other’s mouths as Zani skillfully drew it out of us. My cum spilled onto her face as Emerald painted her chest and stomach, both of us panting, trembling.

Zani pulled back with a low hum, licking her lips slowly. She used her fingers to scoop my seed off her cheek and brought it to her mouth with almost ceremonial precision, licking it clean.

"Mmm~. I do hope you’re both satisfied with your rewards, girls~."

Her words, sultry and sweet, made me ache all over again. My cock twitched at the very idea of burying myself inside her again.

But then—

"Now then, let's call it a night here~."

Her voice, gentle but resolute, knocked the wind out of me. I almost choked on my own breath.

"Wa-wait! Tha-that's all!?" Emerald stammered, clearly as crushed as I was.

I said nothing, just stared at the thick, still-twitching cock between Zani’s thighs. It was impressive. Intimidating. And we hadn’t even touched it.

Zani tilted her head slightly, that same smug grin never leaving her face. "Of course~. You've done a good job... but you didn't really think just leading Roman to me would earn you more than this, right~?"

It stung—but I couldn't say she was wrong. Still, the desire to fuck her—here, now, again and again—burned so fiercely I could barely think.

She saw it. She saw it.

"Of course, I did say I would reward you better than Salem ever could," she continued, voice lilting, nearly musical. "So... I have a new mission for you two~. Complete it—and you might just earn something even more... exciting~."

My cock twitched again, and I hated how easily she made me feel desperate. Thankfully, Emerald spoke for us both.

"Yes! Please!"

Zani’s expression darkened with something sultry and dangerous. "If you're so eager to please me, then listen well. What I want from you two next... is to find where Raven Branwen is hiding~."

The name echoed in my skull like a dropped coin. My breath hitched, the haze clearing just enough to register the gravity of what she’d said. Raven Branwen. Leader of the Bandits. Ozpin's runaway dog. Dangerous, unpredictable, and always elusive.

It wasn’t going to be easy.

But when my eyes drifted back to Zani's still-hard cock, twitching slightly as if it knew we were watching, I already knew my answer.

We were going to find Raven Branwen.

No matter what it took.

{Zani's POV}

Watching Cinder and Emerald leave the room, hips swaying with that telltale mix of confidence and confusion, I couldn’t help but chuckle under my breath. It was the kind of laugh that purred through the back of my throat, warm and amused, tinged with just a hint of condescension. The way they carried themselves — proud, dangerous, yet craving direction — stirred something deep and primal in me. Our little games had gone on long enough for patterns to emerge. The dance was familiar now. Predictable, in all the ways I liked.

Oh, how delightful it was, playing with them.

They didn’t know it — not truly — but they were mine. Not owned in some crude, possessive sense. No, it was subtler than that. Like how a flame owns the moth drawn to it. How the scent of blood owns the wolf’s hunger. They leaned into me, unconsciously, as if guided by instincts they didn’t understand. They waited on my cues, sought my gaze even when pretending indifference, responded to my touch like puppets without strings. I could have told them then and there — spoken the truth aloud, let them see the weight behind my words. But where was the joy in that?

My [Inner Animal] knew better. The thrill was in the hunt. In the moments between. It was in the way Emerald's breath hitched ever so slightly when I brushed her hand. In the way Cinder’s eyes narrowed when I gave Emerald more attention, as if she didn’t realize how delicious her jealousy was. Conditioning them to associate obedience with pleasure, reward with release — it was working far better than I’d anticipated.

They thought they had power. They thought the sex — the head I gave them before issuing my orders — was some twisted game of equals. They didn’t realize that every gasp, every shiver, was another thread pulling them deeper into my web. They came for pleasure, and they left with my commands singing in their bones. It wasn’t even about satisfaction anymore; it was about control. And gods, did it strain me to keep from taking more.

I was aching. Not just physically — though the heat between my thighs throbbed in protest — but emotionally, spiritually. The itch of withheld indulgence crawled beneath my skin like silk laced with fire. But I wasn’t without recourse.

Once I confirmed Cinder and Emerald had left, I made a call. A whisper across a private channel. An invitation wrapped in velvet.

Kali and Sienna. Reliable. Eager. They'd be here soon, and once they were, I could slake the worst of this need. But for now, in that delicious pause between appetite and indulgence, I turned my thoughts to the next step of my plan.

Neo and Roman. Their [Capture] was imminent — a matter of when, not if. And when they finally broke, when their resistance melted away under my pressure, I would have even more leverage. With them secured, the path to the council would lie open, ripe for infiltration. My ambition demanded nothing less.

Still, there were other pieces on this board. Pieces I'd been neglecting.

Team RWBY.

Ruby, with her naïve heroism and eyes that saw the world in black and white. Yang, fire made flesh, strength hiding vulnerability she dared not name. And Weiss — oh, Weiss. So proper. So bound by legacy and duty. I could smell the need to rebel on her like perfume.

They required a different touch than Cinder and Emerald. A more subtle hand. But it was time. The strings were ready. The net had been cast. I only had to tug, and they would come tumbling.

But back to the moment — to the still-warm memory of Cinder's body pressed just a little too close when she thought I wasn’t watching, of Emerald biting her lip as she bent forward to pick up her weapons, as if deliberately teasing me. The sexual tension between us could’ve scorched the air. If I reached out, even now, I could pull them back and have them both on their knees again, trembling and needy.

I could. And they’d come. Eagerly.

But I didn’t.

Because power wasn’t just taken. It was savored.

They didn’t understand yet how completely I owned them. And until they did, I would keep playing this delicious game. Keep pushing and pulling. Keep weaving pleasure into obedience, lust into loyalty.

Because the truth is that I don’t chase. I lure.

They chase me.

And I? I let them.

As I stood alone now, the quiet hum of my quarters broken only by the faint echo of their footsteps fading down the corridor, I exhaled slowly. The tension ebbed, but only slightly. My body still buzzed with unspent energy, with anticipation. My mind, however, had already shifted forward.

Tonight, Kali and Sienna would help me unwind. And once I’d taken what I needed from them, I would refocus entirely on RWBY. I could already see the pieces moving. Weiss’ lingering glances. Ruby’s desire to prove herself. Yang’s frustration boiling beneath the surface.

They wouldn’t know what hit them.

And when they did, it would already be too late.