#emmarc

RWBY x Goddess of Victory: Nikke

Crossover Crack Ship: Jaune Arc x Emma

Arc Therapy/EmmArc

Jaune Arc:

X

Emma:

RWBY x Goddess of Victory: Nikke

Jaune Arc, Emma

Jaune, what do you find yourself nuzzling against Emma's breasts a lot?

The common room of the academy was usually a place of relaxation, but for Jaune Arc, it had currently become a courtroom, and Yang Xiao Long was acting as both prosecutor and judge.

Yang was draped over the back of the sofa, her golden eyes glittering with a predatory sort of amusement. She had been observing the "dynamic" between Jaune and Emma—the towering, impossibly nurturing Nikke—for the past few weeks, and she had finally decided that the silence had lasted long enough.

"Alright, Arc, spill it," Yang chirped, her voice dripping with a teasing honey. "I’ve seen you two. Multiple times. I’m starting to think you’ve developed a very specific, very localized obsession. Why do you find yourself nuzzling against Emma’s breasts every five minutes? Is it a tactical training exercise? A new form of meditation?"

The reaction was instantaneous. Jaune’s face didn’t just turn red; it reached a shade of crimson that would have made a Ruby Rose look pale. He practically jumped out of his skin, his hands waving frantically in the air as if trying to ward off the accusation.

"I-It's not like I did it on purpose!" Jaune stammered, his voice cracking in a way that only added to Yang's delight. "I swear! It’s—it’s a misunderstanding of physics!"

Yang raised a skeptical eyebrow, leaning closer. "Physics, huh? I didn't know the laws of gravity worked specifically in the direction of a cleavage."

Jaune looked like he wanted the floor to open up and swallow him whole. He stole a glance at Emma, who was sitting beside him, looking as serene as a summer morning and radiating a warmth that was both comforting and, in this specific context, devastatingly dangerous.

"I-It’s just that…" Jaune began, his voice dropping to a frantic whisper. "She often… she just takes my head! She grabs me and rests it right there on her breasts! And in my attempt to get out—to maintain some semblance of personal space—I… I end up nuzzling up against them!"

He sounded less like a warrior and more like a man describing a struggle for survival in a very soft, very fragrant wilderness.

"So, what you're saying," Yang summarized, her smirk widening into a full-blown grin, "is that you 'struggle' your way deeper into the pillows. My heart bleeds for you, Jaune. Truly. It sounds like a harrowing ordeal."

Jaune ducked his head, unable to meet Yang's gaze, his shoulders slouching in defeat. He felt a soft, gentle hand brush against his cheek, and he looked up to find Emma gazing down at him.

She didn't say a word, but she gave him a sweet, closed-mouth smile—the kind of smile that suggested she knew exactly how "difficult" it was for him to escape, and that she had absolutely no intention of making it any easier.

"You're just so tense, Jaune," Emma murmured, her voice a soothing melody that seemed to melt the last of his willpower. "You really need to relax."

25 years ago we lost the modern day composer.. let us all remember the genius #FrankZappa pic.twitter.com/heW2frYllu