Law of the strong?

Disclaimer: Every character in this short story are legal adults 18+ and consenting. Any reference to some words is just pet-name and trying to be humorous.

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Jaune Arc stood outside the village gates, Crocea Mors held high just like Pyrrha had taught him, and wondered exactly how his life had gone so spectacularly wrong in such a short amount of time.

It was supposed to be simple.

A quick mission to some remote Mistralian village to earn that extra credit the headmaster had dangled in front of them like a carrot. Easy points, he'd said. Help out some villagers, file a report, done.

Except now Pyrrha, Ren, and Nora were gone—called away by something "urgent" that the village elder had been frustratingly vague about—and he'd been left behind like some kind of discount security guard. At first, he'd tried to continue the mission solo, documenting the village's needs and helping where he could. Then he'd given up on that and decided to just wait for his team to return.

Thankfully, the villagers had been nice about the whole situation. Being a farm boy from the Arc family homestead meant he actually knew how to work the land, how to fix a fence properly, and how to talk to people who got up before dawn every day. He'd blended in easily enough, helping with the small patches of farmland and doing odd jobs around the village.

And with his aura, he could do a lot more than he used to.

It had actually been kind of peaceful.

Had been being the key phrase, because apparently the universe had decided that Jaune Arc was not allowed to have nice things.

That illusion of tranquility had come crashing down about an hour ago when the village elder had come running into his room, practically begging for help. The village was under attack. Or more accurately, it was being encircled by a bandit group.

So naturally, it all came down to him. The young knight who'd faked his transcripts and was slowly climbing his way up. The leader of Team JNPR who had come a long way but still needed to learn and practice a lot more.

Great. Just great.

At least bandits rarely had aura unlocked.

Most of the time. Probably. Hopefully.

And at least this group had accepted the one-on-one duel to decide the village's fate, which was surprisingly honorable for a bunch of criminals. Though that honor might have been less about fairness and more about them wanting to humiliate him publicly before they ransacked the place, anyway.

Which brought him back to his current situation: standing outside the village gates with his shield and sword raised, walking toward a crowd of jeering bandits who were currently shouting insults that would have made his sisters blush.

"Look at the baby!"

"How can he call that armor?"

"He's shaking so hard his sword's gonna fall out!"

"Ten lien says he pisses himself before the fight even starts!"

Jaune gulped, his throat suddenly very dry, but he kept walking forward. He'd made it this far. He'd survived Beacon's initiation, Professor Goodwitch's brutal combat classes, and that one time Nora had convinced him to try her experimental pancakes. He could handle this.

Probably.

Maybe.

Oh gods, why did I stay behind?

The laughter and mockery reached a crescendo, and then suddenly fell silent. The crowd of bandits parted like a curtain being drawn back, and a woman stepped forward from their ranks.

She wore a Grimm-like mask that covered the upper half of her face—red and white with a design very similar to a grimm. Her armor was red and black, form-fitting and clearly battle-worn, with the kind of wear that came from actual combat rather than just looking intimidating. Long black hair fell past her shoulders, swaying slightly in the breeze.

She was a little shorter than him, but she moved with the kind of confident grace that made Pyrrha look hesitant by comparison. Everything about her screamed dangerous in a way that made his survival instincts start screaming at him to turn tail and run for it.

Almost like when he'd faced his very first Grimm for real.

The woman stopped about twenty feet away, her hand resting casually on the pommel of her katana. Even with the mask, Jaune could feel her eyes boring into him, assessing, judging. He did his best to steel his nerves and not make a fool out of himself.

"This is their champion?" Her voice was icy, carrying the bored contempt that suggested she'd seen this scenario play out a hundred times before. "A boy playing dress-up in his ancestor's hand-me-downs?"

More laughter erupted from the bandits behind her.

Jaune tightened his grip on Crocea Mors, forcing his breathing to steady. His legs wanted to run. His common sense was screaming at him to run. Even his sword arm suggested that running might be a fantastic idea right about now.

But behind him was a village full of people who'd been kind to him, who'd fed him and housed him and trusted him to protect them.

So running wasn't an option.

Because heroes didn't run with their tail between their legs.

Even if they really, really should.

"I'm the one you'll have to get through," Jaune said, surprised that his voice only wavered a little. He planted his feet more firmly, raising his sword and pointing it at her. "So either fight me or leave. Your choice."

The masked woman tilted her head slightly. Then, to his complete shock, she threw her head back and laughed. It wasn't cruel or mocking like her people. It was out of amusement.

"Well then, little boy" she said, her hand moving to draw her katana in one fluid motion. The blade gleamed red in the afternoon sun, and Jaune noticed with growing dread that it had channels for Dust running along its length. "Let's see if you're the type who dies bravely or dies screaming. I've got to say, I'm impressed you're even still standing."

She began walking toward him, her katana held loosely at her side. Each step was deliberate, predatory.

"You know what separates the living from the dead out here?" she continued. "It's not skill. It's not honor. It's the willingness to do whatever it takes to survive." She tilted her head again. "You don't look like you've got that in you, boy. You look like someone who still believes in fairy tales."

Jaune raised his shield higher and settled into his guard stance, his heart hammering against his chest so hard he was pretty sure everyone could hear it. His mouth was dry, his palms were sweating inside his gloves, and every instinct he had was telling him this was a terrible idea.

But he'd come too far to back down now.

‘Pyrrha, Ren, Nora,’ he thought desperately, ‘if you guys could hurry back literally any time now, that would be really, really great.’

The bandit’s leader stopped about ten feet away.  "Last chance to run. You showed more bravery than most so I can recognize that." There was something almost sincere in her tone. "Survival isn't shameful. There's no honor in dying for people who can't defend themselves."

"There's no honor in preying on people who can't defend themselves either," Jaune shot back before he could stop himself. 

‘Great. Mouth, meet foot.’

The woman went still. Then she laughed again, but this time it was different, a tone that made a shiver run down his spine.

"Oh, I like you," she said, her voice taking on a dangerous purr. "You've got spine. Stupid, suicidal spine, but spine nonetheless." She shifted her stance, the katana rising slightly. "Fine then. You want to be a hero? Then die like one."

And Jaune Arc, the boy who'd cheated his way into Beacon Academy, the awkward farm boy who was slowly picking up style and skill in his combat classes, prepared to fight what was likely going to be his last battle.

Then the masked woman moved.

Closing the distance between them in three quick strides. Her katana came down in an arc. Jaune barely got his shield up in time, the impact reverberating through his arm.

Thankfully, she didn't press the advantage. Instead, she circled him, her blade tracing casual patterns through the air.

"Is that all?" she asked, sounding almost disappointed. " At least make this interesting."

She struck again, a horizontal slash aimed at his midsection. Jaune twisted, deflecting with his shield, but the follow-up came immediately—a quick thrust that he barely avoided by throwing himself backward. His boots scraped against the dirt as he struggled to maintain his footing.

The bandits roared with laughter.

"He's dancing!"

"Look at him stumble!"

"One more minute and he's done!"

Raven's attacks came faster now. And he was being pushed back.

Jaune's sword arm was already burning from the constant blocking and attempts at deflecting. His shield felt like it weighed a ton. Sweat dripped into his eyes, making it harder to track her movements as she circled and struck, circled and struck.

Then her blade slipped past his guard.

The cut was shallow—barely more than a graze across his shoulder—but it stung like fire. His aura flared, the protective barrier absorbing most of the damage, but he felt the impact, nonetheless. His shirt tore, exposing pale skin underneath.

"First blood," The older woman announced to the cheering crowd. "Let's see how many more we can draw before he falls."

She came at him again, faster this time, her blade finding gaps in his defense with insulting ease. Another cut across his forearm. A slice along his ribs. A shallow gash on his thigh. Each time, his aura flared and protected him from serious injury, but his clothes weren't so lucky. More fabric tore, more skin became exposed.

The bandits were going wild now, whooping and hollering with each successful strike.

Jaune gritted his teeth and tried to counter, sweeping Crocea Mors in a horizontal arc. Raven simply stepped back, letting the blade pass harmlessly in front of her.

"Predictable," she commented, then lunged forward with a quick jab that hit his shoulder.

‘Come on, come on,’ Jaune thought desperately, his breathing ragged. ‘There has to be something—’

He tried to go on the offensive, launching a combination Pyrrha had drilled into him countless times. Overhead strike, shield bash, horizontal slash. The leader avoided the first, blocked the second with her sheathed blade, and countered the third with a strike that nearly knocked Crocea Mors from his grip.

"You're trained," she observed, almost conversationally as she pressed forward. "Not well-trained, but trained. Beacon Academy, if I had to guess." Another casual strike that he barely caught on his shield. "Which makes this even more pathetic. They're sending children to do an adult’s job now?"

Jaune didn't answer. He couldn't afford to waste breath on words. Every ounce of concentration went into simply staying alive, into reading her movements and getting his defenses up in time.

But he was losing ground. Step by step, cut by cut, she was pushing him back toward the village gates.

His aura was flickering now, the protective shimmer less consistent. Another cut—this one deeper, across his shoulder blade. He hissed in pain, stumbling slightly.

The bandits loved it.

"He's breaking!"

"Come on, boss! Finish him!"

"I'm getting bored! End it already!"

Raven's blade came down again, and this time Jaune couldn't fully block it. The katana caught him across the chest, and he felt his aura almost shatter under the impact. The cut wasn't deep, but it was real—actual steel cutting actual flesh. Warm blood began to seep through what remained of his shirt.

Pain lanced through him, sharp and immediate.

No, no, no—

She struck again, and this time there was no aura to protect him. The blade sliced across his forearm, drawing a line of red. Another cut on his side. His vision blurred with pain and sweat and the growing realization that he was going to die here.

But then something inside him shifted.

It was subtle at first—a warmth spreading from his core, flowing through his limbs like liquid fire. His aura, which should have been depleted, suddenly surged back with unexpected intensity. Not just recovering, but amplifying, building on itself in a way that made his entire body feel lighter, stronger.

What—

The woman came in for another strike, clearly expecting him to fold. Instead, Jaune met her blade with his own, and the impact was different. Stronger. His muscles responded with power he hadn't possessed moments before.

She hesitated, maybe surprised as him.

Just like Pyrrha told him, he pressed the slight advantage. It was like someone had removed weights he hadn't known he was carrying. His sword swept up in an arc that forced her to parry instead of simply dodging.

"What—" was all she managed to say.

Jaune pivoted, bringing his shield around in a bash that she deflected, and her stare was completely different. She wasn't playing anymore.

The surge of power continued building, his aura glowing visibly around him now, brighter than it had any right to be. He didn't understand it, didn't question it. He just moved.

His sword came down with all the force he could muster, amplified by whatever was happening to his aura. She brought her katana up to block, but the impact was tremendous—far more than she'd been expecting.

The force of the blow sent her flying backward.

She skidded across the ground, boots digging furrows in the dirt as she tried to arrest her momentum. Twenty feet. Thirty. She finally stopped, crouched low, one hand on the ground for balance.

The entire bandit camp went dead silent.

Jaune stood there, chest heaving, his sword still raised, staring at what he'd just done with the same shock evident on every face around him.

‘Did I just…’

The bandit leader rose slowly. Her hand went to her mask, and she tilted her head.

"Well," she hissed, and all the boredom was gone from her voice. "It seems the little boy has teeth after all."

Then she moved.

Really moved.

Before, she'd been toying with him, testing him, using maybe a fraction of her actual speed and strength. Now the mask came off, metaphorically speaking. She closed the distance in a blur of motion that Jaune's eyes could barely track.

Her katana became a crimson whirlwind, each strike carrying real force behind it. 

No more playing.

This was a real fight.

Jaune barely got his shield up in time to catch the first strike, and the impact nearly shattered his arm. The second came from a completely different angle, forcing him to twist desperately. The third cut through his defenses like they weren't even there, opening a gash across his shoulder.

Blood sprayed.

Pain exploded through him, real and visceral. His aura tried to compensate, to amplify and protect, but it was flickering now, struggling to keep up with the damage.

"Impressive," Raven said as she struck again, her blade finding more of him. "But raw power means nothing without the skill to use it."

Another cut, this one across his thigh. Jaune stumbled, nearly going down. His leg burned, blood running hot down his skin.

She wasn't holding back anymore. 

Jaune's vision blurred, red creeping in at the edges. His breathing came in ragged gasps. His sword felt impossibly heavy, his shield barely responding to his commands.

‘I'm going to die.’

The thought was clear, clinical, almost calm in its certainty.

‘I'm actually going to die here.’

Her blade came down again, and Jaune brought his shield up on pure instinct, no thought behind the motion. The impact drove him to one knee, his leg buckling under the force.

She raised her katana for what was clearly meant to be the finishing blow.

And Jaune, in a moment of sheer desperation, lunged forward instead of trying to block.

His shoulder hit her midsection just as she committed to the downward strike. Her blade passed over his head, missing by mere inches, and his momentum carried them both forward.

They crashed to the ground in a tangle of limbs, but Jaune's shield came up—not in defense this time, but as a weapon.

The edge of his shield caught the woman square across the temple with a resounding crack. Shattering the grimm-like mask.

Her head snapped to the side. Her body went immediately limp.

They hit the ground together, Jaune on top, gasping, barely conscious himself.

For a long moment, nothing happened.

Then Jaune pushed himself up on shaking arms, looking down at the woman beneath him.

Without her mask…

Why did she look like Yang?

But the silence that followed was absolute.

Jaune knelt there in the dirt, covered in blood—most of it his own—staring down at his opponent with the same dumbfounded expression that was surely mirrored on everyone’s face around them.

Did I just...

Did I actually just...

He'd won.

Through sheer, stupid, luck... he'd actually won.

The world tilted sideways, and Jaune realized dimly that he was falling. His body had finally reached its limit.

The last thing he saw before darkness claimed him was the villagers rushing past him with farming tools.

Then everything went black.

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Jaune woke with a sharp gasp, his entire body tensing as consciousness crashed back into him.

He didn't move. Couldn't move. Every muscle screamed in protest at the mere thought, as his whole body protested and ached from merely waking up. His aura must have been working overtime while he was unconscious, because while everything hurt, nothing felt broken. 

Just... thoroughly battered.

Slowly, carefully, his mind started piecing together what had happened. The fight. The bandit leader. That impossible moment when his shield had connected with her head. 

‘I won.’

The realization brought a smile to his face despite the pain. He'd actually won. Driven off the bandits. Saved the village. His team was going to be so surprised when they got back and heard about—

Wait. He could brag about this. Actually, legitimately brag about defeating a bandit leader with aura in single combat. Sure, it had been mostly luck and desperation, but he'd won. That counted for something, right? Maybe he'd tell the story with a little humility, downplay the parts where he'd nearly died multiple times, emphasize his swinging...

But the realization that something felt off interrupted his celebration.

It was hot. Way too hot. The blankets felt like they weighed a ton, pressing down on his chest. Has someone piled every blanket in the village on top of him?

Jaune tried to lift his head, and that's when he noticed the long, black hair sprawled across his chest, rising and falling with steady, peaceful breaths.

‘What.’

His brain stuttered to a complete halt.

There was a woman in his bed. On his bed. On top of him, specifically. How had he not noticed? How had he not felt that?

The woman stirred slightly, and Jaune's heart rate tripled. Slowly, almost languidly, she raised her head.

Red eyes met his blue eyes. Sharp, intelligent, and entirely too awake for someone who'd just been sleeping on his chest.

"Good morning," she said, her voice carrying a hint of amusement. "Welcome back to the land of the living, boy."

"I—you—what?" Jaune stammered, his face immediately flushing bright red. He tried to sit up, but her weight kept him pinned, and his battered body wasn't exactly cooperating, anyway. "Why are youuuuu… I mean, you're the bandit….why?"

"Relax," she interrupted, shifting slightly but making no move to actually get off him. "If I wanted to kill you, you'd already be dead. Several times over, in fact."

"That's not… That doesn't—" His voice cracked embarrassingly. "Why are you in my bed?!"

The woman—the same bandit leader who'd been systematically carving him to pieces, giggled… She actually giggled. It was a low, rich sound that made something in his chest do a weird flip that had nothing to do with his injuries.

"Because…" she said simply, settling back down with her chin resting on her hands, still draped across his chest, "you won. And among my people, the strong must be with the strong. It's how we survive. How we thrive." Her red eyes gleamed with something that might have been approval. "The strong breed with the strong to produce strong offspring. It's simply the way things are done."

Jaune's brain was trying very hard to process this information and failing spectacularly. "I…no… you what?"

"You defeated me in single combat," she continued. "Granted, luck might have been a factor, strength is all and no matter the luck of one without strength it’s meaningless.  And you proved yourself stronger—or at least more resilient—than I expected. Therefore, by the laws of my tribe, you've earned the right to claim me."

"Claim?!" Jaune's voice went up an octave. "I don't want to claim anyone! I just wanted to save the village!"

"And you did," she acknowledged with a slight nod. "Very heroic of you. Also very stupid, but I suppose that's part of your charm." She tilted her head, studying him with those unsettling red eyes. "I am Raven Branwen, leader of the Branwen Tribe. And you, little knight, are now stuck with me."

"Jaune," he said automatically, his mind still reeling. "Jaune Arc. I'm—wait, Branwen?"

The name echoed in his head, familiar but he couldn't quite place why. Branwen, Branwen... where had he heard that name before?

"Branwen," he repeated slowly, his scattered thoughts trying to connect. "That name... do you know someone named Qrow? Qrow Branwen?"

Raven's expression shifted immediately, a sneer curling her lips. "My useless, cowardly brother? Of course I know him. Hard to forget family, even when they abandon everything the tribe stands for to play hero with Ozpin's little academy."

"Your brother?" Jaune's eyes widened. "Qrow is your—but that means you're—Yang's—"

She pushed herself up slightly, her hands coming up to cup his face with surprising gentleness. Her red eyes locked onto his, and Jaune found himself completely frozen, unable to move, unable to think, unable to do anything but stare.

"You think too much, little knight," she murmured, her voice dropping to something almost tender.

Then she kissed him.

It wasn't aggressive or demanding. It was surprisingly soft, almost questioning, her lips warm against his. For a moment that stretched into eternity, Jaune's entire world narrowed down to that single point of contact, his brain short-circuiting.

“There," she said, settling back down on his chest like she owned it. "Much better."

Jaune's mind was still spinning. Qrow's sister, that meant that she was Yang's mother. She told them about her. The mother who was the leader of a bandit tribe who was now his because he'd beaten her in a fight. The logic was so completely alien, so far removed from anything he'd ever been taught about right and wrong, about how the world was supposed to work.

"This is... this is insane."

"No, it's simple," she countered. " Survival of the fittest. The strong survive, the strong breed, the strong continue their line. You showed me strength. But also you showed me how you kept fighting even when you knew you were going to die." Her red eyes held an intensity that made his breath catch. "That kind of strength... it's rare. Valuable. It deserves to be passed on."

After saying that, her hand moved from his chest, tracing a slow path downward, her fingers dancing across his skin. Jaune's breath hitched, his body responding involuntarily to the touch.

"You might be a boy playing at being a man," she murmured. Her fingers dipped below the waistband of his pants. "But beneath the foolishness and the inexperience... there's a core of steel. That's what I saw when you refused to fall." Her fingers wrapped around him, and Jaune gasped despite himself. "That's what I want."

His mind was screaming at him to push her away and then run away. His body, however, had other ideas. Months of rigorous training, of sparring with some of the most attractive and skilled huntresses he'd ever met, had left him with a certain... appreciation for female company that his upbringing had done little to prepare him for.

And this was Yang's mother. This was a bandit queen who had been trying to kill him hours ago. And now her hand was wrapped around his cock.

This truly was insane.

And his body didn't seem to care one bit.

"Wait," he managed to say. "We can't just..."

"Oh?" she asked, raising an eyebrow as her hand began to move with slow, deliberate strokes. "I think we can. I think we will."

Then she lifted her body, causing the blanket to fall and Jaune's mouth went dry.

How didn't he notice that she was naked the entire time?

All lean muscle and pale skin marked by scars that spoke of a history of many fights. Her breasts were full and firm, perfect size, capped with dusky pink nipples that seemed to harden under his gaze.

"You're... ." he stammered, his eyes refusing to look away.

"Incredible? Irresistible?" she offered with a smirk. "I know."

She moved down his body, her hair tickling his skin as she went. Jaune's heart hammered against his chest, a wild, erratic rhythm that had nothing to do with fear and he could only watch as her mouth replaced her hand, and Jaune's world went white.

Hot, wet heat engulfed him, her tongue swirling around the tip in ways that made his body jolt with every movement before taking him deeper in her mouth. Practically swallowing him whole as she then sucked, hollowing her cheeks. His hips bucked involuntarily, a choked gasp escaping his lips. It was nothing like he'd ever imagined, and it would be a lie that he didn't fantasize about this, warm and wet and impossibly good.

She looked up at him, her red eyes glowing with a predatory light as she took him deeper still, reaching her throat which started working around him. The sight alone was almost enough to undo him.

He fisted his hands in the sheets, his back arching off the bed as she increased her speed, her head bobbing up and down with a rhythm that spoke of experience. One of her hands came up to cup his balls, rolling them gently, applying just the right amount of pressure.

"Raven," he gasped, her name a prayer on his lips. "Gods, Raven..."

She hummed around him; the vibrations sending shudders through his entire body. He could feel himself getting close, the familiar tightening in his balls, the coil of heat low in his stomach.

But then she pulled away, leaving him hard and aching and panting for breath.

"Not yet, it would be a waste." She said with a husky tone and pointing a little lower of her stomach. "You must finish inside here."

After that declaration, she took her sweet time to get up and straddled his hips, her knees digging into the mattress on either side of him. Reaching down, she carefully guided him at her slick entrance. His tip tentatively probed the lower lips.

"Are you ready, Jaune?" she asked, her voice a low purr. "Ready to claim what you've won?"

Jaune could only nod, his throat too tight to form words.

Slowly, maddeningly slowly, she lowered herself onto him, inch by torturous inch. The heat of her, the tightness, the way she enveloped him completely—it was overwhelming, a sensory overload that left him gasping for air.

When she was fully seated, touching his crotch, she paused, her hips moving in a slow, grinding circle that made his vision swim. Her velvety walls clenched around him, rippling in a way that drew a groan from him.

Then she leaned forward, her hands bracing on his shoulders as she began to move, lifting herself up before sliding back down with a smooth, practiced motion. All for the sake to draw out that pleasure.

And her red eyes never left his.

"You feel that?" she purred. "That's what strength feels like. That's what power feels like. What has earned you."

Jaune couldn't answer. He could only lie there, helpless under the assault of sensation as she began to move faster, her hips snapping forward with increasing force. The sound of flesh against flesh filled the room, punctuated by her soft moans.

Her breasts bounced with each movement, and he couldn't help but reach up, his hands cupping their weight, his thumbs brushing over her nipples. She hissed in pleasure, her movements becoming more erratic, more demanding and the spams gripping in great way.

"H-Harder," she commanded. "Show me you're worthy."

Those words were enough to throw all caution or doubt from his brain.

Jaune thrusted upward to meet her, his hips moving with a desperation that surprised even himself. The impact of their bodies coming together was jarring, a collision of flesh and bone that was both painful but at the same time, it felt fantastic.

He sat up, wrapping his arms around her and burying his face in her neck, inhaling the scent of sweat and sex, something wild and untamed. That drove him to bite down, not gently, and she cried out, her nails digging into his back as her body convulsed around him, gripping his shaft much better.

"Yes…" she hissed. "Just like that!"

All the throbbing pain melted away, replaced by a fire that consumed him from the inside out. He moved with a singular purpose, on a primal need to claim, to conquer, to possess this woman.

And he knew, with a certainty that transcended thought, that this was what she wanted.

With another surge of strength, he flipped them over; he ended up on top, his body covering hers, his hips driving into her with a ferocity that left no doubt of his intentions. Naturally, Raven's legs wrapped around him, pulling him deeper, her hands gripping his shoulders, her heels digging into his lower back to help him with his thrusts.

Their movements became frantic, a desperate, feverish dance as old as time itself. The sound of their bodies coming together, their ragged breathing, the soft cries that escaped their lips—it was a symphony of carnal need.

"Look at me," she demanded, her voice hoarse with passion. "I want to see the man who impregnates me."

Jaune forced his eyes open, his gaze locking with hers as he continued fucking her, his pace relentless, as he was going wild. He could feel the familiar tightening in his groin, the coil of heat that promised release was imminent.

Her red eyes were blazing, her face flushed with arousal. She was the most beautiful, most terrifying thing he had ever seen.

"N-Now," she breathed against his lips. "Give me everything."

The command was all it took.

With a guttural cry, Jaune thrust as deep as he could, touching something at the end of her hot tunnel, his body going rigid as wave after wave of pure, unadulterated pleasure washed over him. He came hard, his seed pulsing into her, marking her, claiming her in the most primal way possible.

It stole his breath, his vision whiting out as his entire being focused on the sensation of pouring himself into her, on the way her inner walls clenched around him, milking him for every last drop.

Raven arched beneath him, her body convulsing with pleasure as she felt the heat of his cum flooding her insides. She held him tight, her nails scoring his back, her legs locked around him, preventing any escape even if he'd been capable of it.

For long moments, they lay tangled together, their bodies still connected, their breathing ragged and uneven. The world slowly came back into focus, the sounds of the village outside filtering back in, the feel of the sheets beneath them, the scent of their lovemaking filling the air.

Jaune collapsed onto her, his weight settling, his face buried in the crook of her neck. 

He could feel her heart beating against his chest, a rapid, frantic rhythm that gradually slowed, returning to a more normal pace.

Her hands moved from his back to his hair, her fingers combing through the tangled strands with surprising gentleness.

"Good boy," she murmured. "That's a strong boy."

Jaune didn't respond, too drained to even form words. He simply lay there, trying to process the whiplash of the last twenty-four hours. The fight, the victory, the revelation, then... this.

He'd just lost his virginity with Yang's mother. With a bandit queen. With a woman who had been trying to kill him.

And it had been... incredible.

"You did well for a first timer." She said, her voice softer now. "But you need your strength again. The night is young, after all."

Jaune's stomach did a little flip at that. 

The night was young?

But before he could fully process that statement, she shifted beneath him, her body moving in a way that was both subtle and deliberate. He felt a renewed stirring, a surprising return of interest that he would have thought impossible given his current state.

All while he still hadn’t pulled out.

Raven noticed, of course. She noticed everything.

"Oh?" she purred, her hips moving in a slow, grinding motion. "Ready for another lesson, Jaune?"

Before he could answer, she rolled them over, ending up on top once more, her thighs straddling his hips. She leaned forward, her hair falling around them like a curtain, creating a small, intimate space that shut out the rest of the world.

"Let's see how long you last before you give out."

Her mouth found his, and this time the kiss was deeper, more demanding, her tongue tracing his lips before delving inside, exploring, claiming. Jaune responded in kind, his hands coming up to cup her face, to thread through her hair, to pull her closer. Trying to imitate her movements.

"Eager, aren't we?" she murmured against his lips. "I like that."

She lifted herself, leaving only the tip inside.Then she sank down on him in one smooth motion, taking him to the hilt, her body enveloping him completely once more. They both groaned at the sensation, at the feeling of being joined so intimately.

Raven began to move, her hips rocking in a slow rhythm. Unlike before, this wasn't that rough, it was almost gentle, if he dared to use that word.

So Jaune's hands roamed her body, mapping the curves and contours, the scars. He traced the line of her spine, the curve of her hips, the swell of her breasts. He marveled at the strength of her, the way her muscles tensed and relaxed with each movement, the sheer, unadulterated power she exuded.

And then there was the look in her eyes.

It was different now. The predatory gleam was gone, replaced by something softer, one that he preferred. 

In that moment, Jaune saw something he hadn't expected to see: a hint of loneliness, a flicker of longing in the depths of her red eyes. And he felt attracted to that, wanting to fill that hole in her.

So his arms wrapped around her and never let her go.

Jaune Arc, the boy who had lied his way into Beacon, the leader of Team JNPR who was still learning what it meant to be a hero, had somehow breached her defenses, had somehow reached the woman behind the mask.

-----------------------------------------

Jaune Arc, the leader of team JNPR, sat at the edge of the bed in a pensive pose, his head resting on his hand, staring at nothing in particular.

His mind was still trying to process the absolute insanity of yesterday. Bandit attack. Desperate duel. Impossible victory. Waking up to find said bandit leader draped across his chest like she owned him. The kiss. And the subsequent long sex marathon which turned out aura gave you a lot, but a lot of stamina in bed.

Cool discovery. maybe?

Night he fucked Yang's mom.

He'd somehow accidentally acquired and fucked Yang's biological mom.

Behind him, Raven was still full asleep, she was the one who had to tap out first. She'd made herself comfortable in his bed, completely unconcerned with his mounting existential crisis.

His scroll's ringtone—loud, cheerful, and entirely too enthusiastic for his current emotional state broke the silence of the room.

Jaune's head whipped around toward the nightstand where his scroll sat, the screen lit up with an incoming video call. The ringtone seemed deafening in the quiet room. He glanced back at Raven, but she just shifted slightly, still asleep.

‘Thank the gods.’

He practically lunged for the scroll, fumbling to grab it before the noise woke her up. His thumb hit the answer button without checking the caller ID.

The screen filled with a familiar face, blonde hair, lilac eyes, and a massive grin.

"Oh, heya Jaune-boy!"

Oh no.

Oh fuck.

It's Yang.

"H-hey, Yang," Jaune stammered, his voice coming out slightly strangled. His free hand gripped the edge of the bed. "Why are you calling?"

"Ruby wanted to check up on you, so I decided to be proactive and call you first!" Yang's grin widened. "Make sure you're not getting yourself killed or—wait, why do you look so pale? You okay?"

Before Jaune could answer, Ruby's face popped into frame from the right side of the screen, her energetic silver eyes matching the smile she wore.

"Hey, Jaune! How've you been doing on your mission?" She tilted her head, studying him through the screen. "Whoa, you look like you've seen a ghost. Did something happen?"

Jaune gulped, his throat suddenly very dry. He took a deep breath, trying to formulate some kind of response that wouldn't immediately lead to his death.

‘Okay. Okay. Just stay calm. Don't panic. Think of something—’

All words died on his tongue when a pair of hands suddenly grabbed his shoulders from behind.

Strong, feminine hands that wrapped around him with casual possessiveness, crossing over his chest.

"Good morning, stud," Raven's voice purred directly into his right ear before she rested her chin on his shoulder, her long black hair spilling forward to frame both their faces.

And she was looking directly at the scroll's camera, a lazy, satisfied smirk on her lips.

"Jaune, who's that?" Ruby asked.

Then, Yang's brain apparently caught up with what her eyes were seeing.

"MOM?!"

The single word came out as something between a shriek and a roar, Yang's face going through several expressions and finally settling on a furious, blazing red.

"Oh, hello daughter," Raven said casually, as if this was a perfectly normal family reunion and not a catastrophic disaster in the making. "It's been a while. You're looking weak. Still playing hero at Beacon, I see."

Jaune could actually see Yang's eyes flicker to red on the screen, her hair beginning to glow slightly at the tips.

"What—how—WHY ARE YOU—" Yang sputtered, unable to form a complete sentence. "JAUNE, WHY IS MY MOM IN YOUR BED?!"

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AN:ENJOY ANOTHER MILF.

I think this was mentioned before but I don’t like writing straight to the action, like just writing one or two lines and then sex. Also, this still is for practice.