Runon sentences: the half-fic

Another day of headaches... Chrom's return to the shores of Ylisse to run a tour of alarm to rally the forces of the land against Walhart's threat had turned up another future spawn. Nowi's daughter, named Nah, joined the caravan of soldiers with a little bit of huff and a strange glance in your direction whenever she passed.

The glances were wearing thin on Tharja's patience. It was bad enough your wedding was hurried along the moment you reached the capital, it was even worse that it couldn't end with a traditional Grimleal sacrifice of a heretic, but now there was a Manakete with your hair and eyes and not a single explanation. Nowi didn't even seem the slightest bit interested in you - a fact you brought up in your many tiffs with the missus.

You paid for it at night, when she would make you vow to never look another woman in the eyes, under the intense weight and pressure of her body and her anger both riding your rigid shaft... Any pretense of love or mercy was lost the moment she had you behind locked doors until you realized who it was you belonged to. Surrender was inevitable - if not for your sake, then for the sake of your daughter. You were well aware she could hear every squeak of every bed frame, every hissed word from Tharja's lips and every rhythmic tremble as her mother came in the next room.

Every single time.

You could never really ask her about it - she'd avert her eyes and then smile and say something about needing to be somewhere before skipping off.

Something about Tharja's constant sexual dominion over the past few weeks made even looking at your daughter a difficult task. She had inherited her mother's curves - signs of them could already be seen growing in her young body.

Every time she ran off, Tharja would be watching too. The familiar dragoness quickly fell from your mind.

"You're watching her very close," your sorceress wife would say from behind some dark tome. Unlike with Nowi, Tharja always smiled when it came to teasing you about your daughter. She wasn't a woman in her eyes.

"Gods, I used to like when you stood so close behind me!"

It just made her laugh her wicked laugh and lid her eyes as she hid her face behind the black, skull riddled book. "We don't even know she's our daughter. She doesn't remember me at all... I won't even have to guide you on how the Grimleal keep their bloodlines so pure if that was the case," she said.

"They screw their kids, in case you were curious." A 'mweeheehee' kind of laugh followed that, joined soon by her lips brushing along your ear. "So, you know, if you ever feel the need for something a little tighter than I am you can go right ahead and -"

"Tharja, you're plenty... For the love of - I didn't even think you liked the Grimleal." Even while chastising her, your head tilted back towards her lips as they traced their way along your jaw, down onto your neck as the book she was hugging found its way onto your chest, her arms drawing you in close to the soft curves of her breasts.

"I don't, but the way she prances around in those little tactician robes... Robin, can we just...?" Your eyes roll. The answer was always yes - saying no might as well be a confession given a swift death penalty.

She'd grown more vulgar, letting some of the darkness of her mind spill out. Maybe it was her imagined victory of reeling you in from some non-existant Manakete usurper that made her more comfortable, maybe she was excited by thinking of Morgan, but whatever the case her gentle seduction ended once she had you alone again.

Wicked, quiet laughter flowing out of a heavily blushing face paired with lidded eyes and a wide grin were all staples of your private moments now.

Even as her tongue slithered its way from your navel to your chest, even as she peppered kisses up your body that ended with a bite onto your neck she giggled like that. Quiet only long enough to suckle at your neck, pulling you into her with a hand gripped firmly in your hair, she soon started to gasp with anticipation.

"You're mine," she whispered into your ear. Her body certainly reinforced that notion, every movement possessive and intense from the way her soft thigh wrapped her leg around just one of yours, dragging you in to rub against the radiating heat of her plush nethers, letting you feel all the humidity of her desire to the way her toes curled from the slightest touch of your lips on any part of her body all told volumes of the way you were something that was hers, and something she enjoyed immensely.

"Until I finish. I'm going to curse you, but just a little bit... you did the same thing to me in a dream, so consider it pay back." There was a dark tome placed near the pillow, lit by candles dripping over some beast's skull or another. Incense drifted up nearby. The pages were turned to something that her slender finger ghosted over delicately before she adjusted and bucked herself against your thigh, breasts pressing in against your chest as she kissed your lips without giving you a chance to protest.

Golden spirals overtook the room briefly, a heat and frigid cold wrapping around your cock all at once that didn't vanish but only faded into a tense electric tingle once Tharja's hand wrapped around it and she whispered dark nothings into your ear. She pumped slowly, her tongue rolling its way along yours while her lips kissed ravenously enough to give you precious little oxygen. That's how it remained for tortured minutes: wicked magic flowing through your shaft as her hand pumped and squeezed, rolling at the wrist, nimble fingers squeezing from top to bottom in waves, her hips grinding her wet petals into your thigh as hers squeezed it in plump tightness.

Tharja intentionally drew attention to her curves. The same curves your daughter was inheriting, the same soft pliability already clearly settling into her thighs.

"Gods," you muttered at the thoughts. Tharja shooshed that immediately, her lips moving against yours, punctuated by kisses.

"No. There aren't any of those here tonight... Just me. Mehehe, but if you want to worship me, and do it with this horrible, delicious thing," she said, her hand redoubling its efforts enough for vermillion strands of magic to spark and jolt along the surface of your length. Every sensation was multiplied tenfold, every stroke a masterstroke from her soft hand.

"Do it," she hissed, giggling as she kissed you, her hips adjusting to hover over your cock, letting you see her bare breasts hanging below her frame and the gold she tended to always wear. "I want you to be the one to sentence yourself to whatever I'm about to put us both through... Alright?" Her head cocked in a predatory way, wide smile on her face.