Before I start, here's an announcement. As much as I love all your ideas (and really you guys have had some great ones), I'm sitting on close to two dozen concepts cooked up on my own. So for now I'm suspending any requests. Please don't snipe with a comment requesting what you want, it will be ignored.


"Oh, joy."

Tharja's flat voice expressed a sharp contrast to that of her two comrades at their final battleground. The gardens had been nice, albeit too bustling for her tastes. The sudden leap into Nifl had made her glad for her bouquet keeping her warm. The beach...just no. But how apt it was that the last battle would be in a chapel, especially given her current attire.

To call her 'ravishing' was to be woefully inadequate. Despite her misgivings at the gown, Tharja had taken it and truly made it her own, accentuating her usual dark mage's garb in the process. It was a toss up if she was showing more or less skin than usual, especially compared to her incarnation from the Winter's Envoy. But she was no less deft with her weapon, in this case a bouquet of Muspell Fireposeys.

"Alright, we'll finish things here and head back to Askr!" Morgan cheered, holding his copy of the Fenrir tome. The Elder words within those pages called to her, but were nothing more than a whisper compared to the thundering chorus from within the chipper boy's soul. He turned to her, exposing her to the light of his smile as he asked her, "This will be a cinch, right Tharja?"

Tharja said nothing, offering only a tsk before focusing on the battle to come. Morgan fell in line beside her, alongside their other surviving comrade who's name she didn't care to recall. 'As long as he swings that little stick, that's good enough for me' the dark bride mused. She gave no more thought of that, intent to focus on the final skirmish and repress her near-catastrophic failures.

The short night between their last bout and now...Tharja had almost done something she'd regret. It was compulsion towards the lad's inner darkness, the same rich ocean that she could feel wafting in his father...mother...Robin. The fact it was smaller was of no consequence to her, especially when she was alone with him. The curse of her arcane gifts cared not.

Still, this was not the time nor place to wallow in her own sickening thoughts. As her companions lifted their respective weapons, she followed suit by...clutching her bouquet. The smoldering heat of the deadly fire-flowers brought a twisted smile to her face.


"Get back, Morgan!"

He heeded Tharja's advice, leaping away from the weapon that came crashing down. The deadly spoon gouged deep into the stone, cutting clear past where his neck would have been. The delicious slice of cake was defiled as the blood of Bartre the warrior dripped off the giant utensil.

Charlotte's berserk grin shined brighter than the silver spoon. The crazed blonde bride effortlessly pulled her embedded weapon out and struck again, managing to hit his side. Morgan's screams of pain caused her face to twitch. Whether in joy, despair, or simply annoyance was of no consequence.

Tharja watched in horror as she rushed across the aisle. Her free hand had the insufferable burden of holding up her dress. Her other was clutching the bouquet with such force her knuckles had turned white.

She couldn't see the lad's face, but she saw his cloak...the same one that her beloved Robin cherished. He wasn't moving, even as the maniacal nohrian loomed over him to finish the job. It was enough to send her into a fury- a cold, deadly fury.

Elder magic was based on the pursuit of knowledge, but it was so much more than that. It was the merits of enlightenments, and the detriments and costs of unworldly teaching. The boons and banes of controlling rationality...and losing it. And what was more irrational and detrimental to that course than emotion?

Fwoosh!

Charlotte howled in pain as the fire struck her, burning her already-tattered dress. She forgot about Morgan as she turned to face her comrade in mock martial matrimony. Tharja glowered at her as her bouquet burst into flames.

"Love is a curse," the dark bride growled before unleashing the full fury of her hellfire on Charlotte. The force of her attack sent the blonde flying backwards, crashing into the altar as her body went limp.

Tharja didn't care, and was instead focused on helping Morgan to his feet. Minus a deep cut in his side and the loss of his leather sash, he was okay. Her relief briefly overpowered the dark whispers in her head.

The tactician's son winced as his living companion cradled him. "I...We won?" he asked, trying to catch his breath. Tharja was prepared to respond, only for the golden light of victory to flash through the windows.

"So we did," she mused. Her eyes roamed his body, searching for any debilitating or crippling wounds. 'He's lucky, nothing that a healing staff wouldn't fix,' she mused. That wouldn't stop her hand from being a little too amorous in its inspections.

As one, the duo watched a telltale beam of light illuminate the door of the chapel. Morgan knew that it would take them back to Folkhalla , back to their fellow Heroes and the now-alive charms of Bartre and Amelia, never knowing when they'd be paired up again unless they requested it...

Morgan attempted to move, only for her arms to keep him in place. "Don't push yourself. We have time," she explained. Her inner desire to keep him close and bask in his rich darkness went unsaid. He swallowed the lump in his throat before relenting.

Silence fell over them. Time passed, indiscriminate of their respective plights. The young tactician had averted his eyes, trying not appreciate how active her chest was, even in the act of simply breathing. Beyond that was how tight her dress looked on her, or the teasing visage of her bare skin through the bits of chiffon.

Tharja wiped her brow, smearing her black sleeves with her sweat. It wasn't from the battle, or even the heat of her bouquet. It was her anxiety, her body craving his on a level that went disturbingly beyond mere adoration. He was the nectar she needed. 'It's like Camilla said, find what makes you feel alive and feed it,' she mused.

Morgan perked up suddenly, breaking her of her lull. "I-I think we should head back!" he quickly said. She hadn't realized how low her hand had gone in its...probing, or how much of an impact it had.

Tharja was reluctant to let him stand up. Not out of concern, but for the loss of his touch. She attempted to follow him, trying to bring him back into her arms. He was resistant, turning back to protest. "Tharja we need to g- mmph ?!"

A chance, a single whim had brought her crashing down on him. She sucked against his teeth, flinging her tongue into his mouth. She relished it all: his spit, his sweat, and even the dulcet whimpers.

Her lips weren't the only thing busy. Her hand stroked his groin, intent to coax out the dragon in his pants. It took little effort on her part, especially after he'd spent so long trying to not think about the bewitching bride whose lap he encroached. Her efforts were rewarded as his dick sprung up inside his drawers.

Reluctantly, Tharja pulled away. 'The next hex I make is going to be to against my lungs' she silently declared. Her hand snuck into his trousers, delicately stroking his girth. Morgan took a moment to process everything that had happened, his eyes snapping to his now prominent erection.

"T-Tharja wha-?"

"I'm giving you a choice, boy," she explained. Her hand was pumping his girth now, running her manicured nails against his dick. Satisfied that he was paying attention, she ceased her ministrations, much to his protest. "Not to worry little one, I can take away this pain...if you make the right choice." she warned.

Tharja slowly drew up to his glans, delighting in the feeling of sticky pre-cum between her fingers. The marital magic mistress let out a groan of appreciation before delivering her ultimatum. "Now listen. Either you step into that pillar of light and leave us both in frustration…" she trailed off, making a show of losing her grip on his cock.

Morgan was in agony over her actions. He barely managed to squeak out a reply. "O-Or?"

She smiled, her usual devious grin with an added dose of lust. "Or you stay here-" she started. Her hand reached behind his head and pulled him to her. Her full lips ended up right next to his ear, letting her whisper, "-and I show you what your father's been missing," before pulling away.

Morgan whimpered at her violation, especially when coupled with her ever-roaming palm. "H-he's not my father," the young man stuttered, trying to clear the misconception of his mother's counterpart.

Tharja laughed at his statement, a deep chuckle that sent shivers down his spine and loins. "Whatever. Choose," she ordered. For good measure, she relinquished her hold on him, letting him stumble back with his shameful erection sticking out.

He didn't hesitate to dive back in.

"Good answer," she complimented him before re-capturing his lips. She felt his resistance weaken and ultimately shatter, melting into her lascivious tongue. He was putty in her hands, ready for her to mold him as she saw fit. When she pulled away, he whimpered at her absence.

"Now allow me," the dark bride said as she got on her knees. Her manicured nails reached for the strings of his drawers, deftly untying the knot. She let his pants fall to his knees, too interested in the bulge that peeked out of his underwear. With a quick tug, his cock was now free, much to her approval.

"Mmm, impressive," Tharja cooed, delighted at the sexual sight. It was big, but not too daunting. Just large enough that she could imagine straddling the line between pleasure and pain. The sorceress leaned in, taking in the musky scent from base to tip. "Oh yes, I think this will do just fine," she declared.

Morgan was embarrassed by her lavish praise and shifted uncomfortably. As if sensing his tepidness, she looked up and offered her best attempt at a normal smile. She was...improving.

"Just lay back and let me take care of this," Tharja explained. Her hand had started to stroke his dick, a smooth, open-palmed motion that was similar to petting a cat. The connotation was lost to him, especially since he was so naive. "Don't get too comfortable though, you'll be paying me back ten times over" she warned.

The young man swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded. Satisfied,she gave his dick a little tossle, reminding him of the matter at hand. She unconsciously licked her lips before asking, "Now where should I put this?"

The bewitching bride put on a look of mock contemplation. "Hmm, In my mouth?" she mused, bringing it close to her lips. For added measure, she gave a little lick to his slit, relishing in the way he squirmed.

Tharja brought her other hand up and spat in it. "Maybe go straight into my pussy?" she suggested, using her wet hand to squeeze his cock in an attempt to simulate her dripping sex. She took his stammering as a badge of honor.

The sorceress changed her demeanor, dropping the mirth before asking her final question. "Or do you want to take my ass ?" she growled. Her example was less refined as she tried to squeeze his cock between her ring and middle finger. It was rough and painful...only a fraction of what she'd have to endure even if he did it right.

Morgan let out a yelp, only for it to morph into a sigh as she loosened her grip. "Relax, I'm only teasing you, Morgan," she explained. Somehow he found comfort in her biting chuckle. He was finding that there was a certain...tenderness, in her demeanor. The kind that she'd sooner hex you to silence than let be exposed. It was that same muted compassion that guided his cock to her plunging neckline. "We'll start here."

Her younger lover said nothing, too flustered by everything happening to properly respond. He let her take him into her bosom feeling the sudden warmth and pressure of her tightly packed tits. He suddenly yelped, causing her to pause and ask, "What's wrong?"

"T-There's something in there," Morgan explained. She looked skeptical and pushed him further in for good measure. "I'm sure of it. It feels...cold."

Tharja mulled his words. "Oh? ...Oh! That's right!" she exclaimed. She let go of her breasts, letting him slide out. As soon as his cockhead cleared her clevage, the sorceress plunged her hand between her tits.

She ignored Morgan's shocked sputters as she blindly groped for the intrusion. Her nails scraped against her skin as she rummaged around in her bosom. Eventually her fingers gripped around the chain, prompting her to pull it out.

Morgan stared at what she'd procured. It was a silver chain, with a pair of matching rings wrapped around it. 'W-why did she have those down there? ' he wondered.

Tharja snapped off the chain, letting the two rings slide free. "Here, put this on," she insisted as she placed one of the innocuous bands in his hands. He looked down at the ring, feeling his cheeks burning at the sight, the implications. "None of that, it's just a replica that came with the costume," she snapped, breaking him out of his vivid fancies.

Morgan slipped it on, wincing at the cold silver on his bare finger. Her sudden grip on his shaft made him freeze up as she breathed into his ear. "Although I may have...modified it, somewhat," the dark bride chuckled.

The tactican's son swallowed before asking, "So it doesn't mean...uh, that? "

Tharja shrugged. "Who can say? Buuuut I can tell you what it does," she cooed before leaning into his ear again.

Morgan listened to her words. It seemed innocuous at first, shared strength, heightened senses. But after that it quickly became quite...racy. By the time she pulled away, his cheeks were as hot as her bouquet. "T-that long? That much? "

"Mmhmm, but let's see if you can exceed those limits, shall we?" she smirked. With that, his cock was once again nestled between her bosom, now completely unmolested by any unwelcome intrusions. The only thing he felt was the tight warmth of her cleavage.

Tharja drooled down into her breasts, letting the spit act as an extra form of lubricant. She squeezed her sides together, compressing his dick in her heavenly flesh. She took the initiative and bounced up.

Sadly, Morgan turned out be unable to resist her tempting torture, and swiftly succumbed to his climax. Tharja cooed as she felt the valley of her breasts fill up with his warm cum, dripping down her crack and pooling into the tight fabric of her chiffon-covered stomach. The sheer volume of his loads made her forgive his disappointingly short time. The fact he was still hard in her cleavage also helped matters.

"You've made a mess of my bodice...good," she smirked as he pulled away. Sticky strings of sperm connected him to her chest, breaking away and landing on her purple breast cloth. She was amused at the sight, turning back to him and asking, "I trust there will be more where that came from?"

Morgan turned away, equal parts embarrassed and anxious. "I-I don't know," he admitted. His eyes glanced down to the flicker of silver on his finger. "What about these rings?" the lad asked. Tharja grabbed his hand and pulled his attention back to her.

"Watch me closely," she explained as she brought his hand up to her mouth. Without looking away, her lips closed around his ring-clad finger, taking the digit into her hot mouth. Morgan's hand twitches, causing it to wiggle between her teeth. Still, she kept going.

At last she arrived at the ring, taking the cool metal band between her pursed, painted lips. Tharja held it there, softly suckling on the polished silver. Morgan looked on, perturbed yet aroused at her display. After a minute, she pulled back with a loud, wet pop . The thin bridge of saliva joining his finger and her mouth quickly broke away.

"Now you do the same," she said as she brought her own dainty hand up. He gulped, looking at her perfectly manicured nails and imagined them pricking the inside of his mouth. Still, he obeyed her request and took her in his hands. 'Okay, just like mother showed me...except i'm not kissing her hand...oh gods,' he whimpered.

Tharja watched as he emulated her actions, sucking in her finger. She groaned when his teeth grazed her skin, rubbing along the surface. His tongue curled around her digit, dripping saliva as he at last reached the ring.

Her free hand came up to his forehead, gently pushing him up to face her. She offered the nervous lad a truly rare smile, one lacking in her usual dark tendency and intent. It made the task of holding the ring between his lips for a full minute that much more bearable. He was almost reluctant to let her slide it out, knowing full well he'd taken it for far, far longer than required.

"Did you enjoy that?" she asked with a knowing smirk. Morgan said nothing, merely looking down at his ring for any signs of something peculiar. "Just wait, it'll become clear soon enough," Tharja explained as she grabbed his hands. He helped her up, earning more favor in her eyes.

She led him around the altar, coming to a stop before the ornate table. The lovely pair of candelabras and a bowl of water were unceremoniously swept aside to give her room to lean over. Her bouquet was tossed to the side, just out of reach..

With an almost practiced ease, Tharja reclined against the altar. Her back arched as she rested on her elbows. Her hair was swept to one side, exposing the sizzling gaze that beckoned him forth. She gave a small shudder, directing him down to her protruding rear.

Morgan shakily grabbed her hips, laying his dick against her back. He pressed down, compressing her dress between her asscheeks and his girth. He hesitated.

"Don't be shy, just enjoy," she cooed.

He took her up on her offer.

The bride's finger was bitten down on a she looked back to admire Morgan's hip thrusts. The lad's cock was firmly planted between her asscheeks, sandwiched by her covered rump. Her elbows were rubbed raw against the top of the altar, cradling her head as she surrendered to the motions.

Tharja huffed in frustration, looking down on her insufferable dress. A wicked idea came to mind, followed by her telltale smirk. She left him dazed on the ground as she reached for her bouquet. With careful precision, she plucked two petals of her fireposeys...

The smell of something burning snapped Morgan back. He looked up just in time to see Tharja finishing her modifications to her lavishly lascivious gown. She pulled off the skirt, leaving a jagged edge where it had once flowed down. That just left her bow and her hip wings. "Don't worry about it, it's just a sham," she shrugged, kicking the now-useless remnants aside.

"R-Right," he replied. His attention was firmly on her legs, the way her panytyhose stretched over her sensual calves. He could just make out the sight of something purple and frilled between her legs.

Tharja hopped up on the altar and hiked up her legs. She tore a hole in her crotch lining, giving her room to reach her precious panties. "Besides, everyone knows that a real wedding dress is white…" she chuckled before turning up to him. Her legs came apart, revealing her glistening pussy and trimmed pubes. "So why don't you come here and paint it right?"

Her words had the intended effect, albeit at a somewhat shorter pace than she would've liked. She looked at his half-mast and tsked.

"Seems the hex doesn't act as quickly as I thought. But no matter..." she trailed off. Her lips left a wet smack against his glans before rearing up to gobble his dick.

Morgan gasped as his dark lover consumed his prick. Without losing eye contact, she bobbed her head down his shaft. Her tongue worked diligently to clean off any remnants of their earlier copulation. She tasted not only his cum, but also her own juices. Her ministrations had the desired effect, and he was soon hard again in her hot mouth. "Pwah! That just leaves us more time for the fun, doesn't it?" she cooed, rubbing him up with vigorous pumps...


Morgan's hands clamped down on the edge, giving him more leverage to plow her. Tharja's back rubbed against the top of the altar, her arms overhead to grab the opposite end. Her beaded chokers bounced with every thrust, a far more subdued motion then her breasts.

Her legs slammed against the sides, rubbing her almost-bare calves against polished stone. She felt him unleash another load deep in her greedy sex. Her toes curled as the world turned white…


Morgan grunted as her hips slammed down on him. He was graced with an unmolested view of her rippling ass cheeks and her naked back. He could barely make out the sight of her hands squeezing her tits, kneading them as she let out guttural howls.

Tharja collapsed as another orgasm rocked her body. She felt his hands latch onto her hips as another blast of fell cum pasted her womb. Her tongue lolled out as the dull tone of bells consumed her mind…


The bride bit her lips, wincing at the taste of copper. Her fingers tightened around her calves, cutting into her panty hose and leaving marks on her pale skin. She felt his hands squeeze on her hips, pulling her up closer to his mouth. 'G-Gods...where did he pick up this ?'

Morgan was ignorant of her plight, too focused on licking her pussy. He tasted his own seed, but merely the lingering effects. Any cum that had been in her channel had dripped down to the charred remains of her skirt. His tongue grazed her clit, causing her to scream as orgasmic fire burned her…


Her hand clasped against his crown, squeezing his sore glans. Her fingers broke the dried layer of spunk as she pulled down. Her grip was just as tight as her throat and pussy had been, without the added benefit of being naturally lubricated.

Morgan grunted as he came, drenching her arm in his seed. She looked at the potent ropes of fell spawn that baptized her, transforming her midnight gown into an almost milky sheen. She licked her lips at the sight...


Tharja whimpered, grinding her hips at the abrupt shift of speed. Her younger lover had ignored her plight, preferring instead to splay out over her spunk-coated back. His hands reached around to softly cup her breasts, kneading them through the ribbed fabric of her brassiere. His teeth were over her thick choker, attacking the sensitive space where her neck met her head.

"Y-you're incorrigible" she growled. He said nothing, opting instead to wiggle his dick in her stuffed pussy. Her fingers gripped the carpet, followed by the clenching of her teeth. 'Gods, where did he learn all this?!' she wondered as she bit down on her lip...


Tharja's cheek rubbed against the stained glass, smearing a little of her mouth's blood. One hand was pressed above her, the other pulled behind her back. The dark bride had long since abandoned her cold shell and was now openly praising and moaning in delight. Her bruised lips were open as a permanent chorus of sexual bliss echoed through the chapel.

Behind her, Morgan was slamming his hips, slapping against her spunk-stained asscheeks. His hands clutched her wrist and hips, using the leverage to drill her sopping pussy. The boy's cloak was down at his feet, exposing his bare, sweaty arms. Her nails drew down the ornate glass, scratching it as another orgasm wracked her body...


Tharja gripped the end of the altar as she endured his assault. The lad continued tonguing her ass, pushing her buttcheeks further apart to gain more room. His lips were sealed around her crack, giving it a sloppy wet kiss.

"M-ooooor-" she trailed off. Whether she was begging for more or calling his name was of no relevance to the lad. All he cared about was making her squirm and scream until the rafters shook. Her curled toes suggested he was succeeding…


Tharja's hands clutched the pillar, pressing her ass out further. Morgan was back between her buttcheeks, now even closer to the perfect curvature of her rump. His pace was more frantic now, devoid of his earlier trepidation against the altar. His hands firmly held her cheeks in place, giving him the tension he needed whilst still letting her skin ripple with every thrust.

She purred in delight as he twitched between her rump, heralding his impending climax. She felt hot lashes of sticky cum latch onto her naked back. 'I could get used to this…' she happily sighed…


Morgan gasped under the deft assault of Tharja. Her lips were sealed around his cock, torturing him with a gutteral symphony. Her fingers pumped in and out of the young man's asshole. Her other hand was scraping the space between his balls.

The twisted bride pressed on, her nails digging into his prostate. He rewarded her with more of his salty dowry. And from his lips she drew a hallelujah...


Her heels dug into his sides, making it harder for him to fuck her. Morgan growled at the obstacle, but pushed further. His grip on her arms tightened as he doubled his pace.

His legs protested her weight, quickly silenced as the lustful hex granted him endurance and stamina that would normally be beyond the meek young man. His balls slapped against her ass, already drenched in a discharged mixture of cum and quim. Tharja bit down on his neck as another orgasm ravaged her weary body...


She had him on his knees, right in front of the altar. Tharja's smirk was firmly on her face as she tousled his reddened cock with her stocking-clad toes. She lacked skill, but for a boy like him it was hardly a factor.

"Gods Tharja, I-I'm!" he cried out as more of his spunk stained her eager body. She mewled at the feeling of warm, sticky cum coating her heel before attempting to aim it up her calf. The brief spurts that reached through her patched stockings made a shudder go up her spine. "Very good. We'll do the other leg later, okay?" she asked.


Morgan's hands gripped her hips, body slapping straight into her greedy sex. Tharja was hunched over, barely holding herself up under his amorous assault. She'd lost count of how many loads had been stuffed into her twat, or smeared all over her ravaged dress.

Her body screamed under the constant onslaught, her frayed mind barely formed a coherent thought. 'I-I'm so tired...but gods I need more'. The words never passed her pinched lips. She tasted blood again...


His smaller body attempted to smother her as he filled her snatch. Tharja's hands bunched into the remains of her dress as she felt him latch down on her nape. She pushed back, causing her ass to slam into groin every time their hips met.

Morgan suckled her neck, causing goose flesh to litter her body. Her still-covered breasts rubbed against her bodice, finding the chiseled stone floor under her skirt. She bit her lip once again…


"Aren't they nice?" Tharja cooed as she looked over at his clenched face. Below, her torn thigh highs rubbed and squeezed against against his cock. She shifted her thighs, bringing one of the tight golden rings against his shaft. Hearing his gasp and feeling him squirm beneath her brought a full blown smile to her face.

"Oh, you liked that don't you?" her husky voice broke over his pants. She felt some more of his pre-cum land on her crotch. "Trust me, there's more where that came from…"


Morgan's head flew back with a groan. Beneath him, Tharja's lips sucked and slurped on his cock, intent to coax out yet another load. Her head bobbed along his shaft, relishing the taste of their coupling. One hand was between her knees tracing circles around her ravished sex. The other was wrapped around the base of his shaft.

He gingerly pushed her hair back, exposing her onyx eyes. She winced at the sudden light, but kept blowing him. She repressed her gag reflexes and took him into her throat, never breaking her gaze on the son of her warped affections...


Her nails dug into the pew behind them, giving her some much-needed stability as she was ragdolled on his dick. Morgan's hands were active, roaming her curvaceous body as he navigated chiffon, dress, and flesh. Her knees bashed against the backing, the pain drowned out by sweet, sexual bliss.

"Gods...Thaaaarjaaaa," he moaned. Her response was to bend down and capture his lips. She nibbled on his tongue, coaxing it out to grapple with hers. As his hand reached her swollen clit, her own hand latched onto his head...


Tharja purred, feeling Morgan's hands run through her disheveled locks. Her own hands were behind him, rubbing similar circles in his own hair. There was no vigorous pounding, no further defiling of their hallowed grounds. Just a tender moment on one of the pews.

'I suppose getting a cramp isn't always so bad…' she thought as he gave her a little bump. She pushed back, almost playfully so. 'Now how long is he going to drag his feet? ' she wondered.


Smack!

Smack!

The taste of carpet filled her uncaring mouth as she rubbed against the fabric. Her breasts were in no better shape, their skin forcibly dragged against the ground. Her knees chafed as her sore ass endured blow after blow from the usually docile boy's hand. When his tempo was finally interrupted, she let out a sigh of relief...

"Ah!"

His hands pulled up on her hair, using his new handlebars to bring her almost parallel with the carpet. Her knuckles dragged uselessly below her, unresponsive to her whims for even a minute hold. Her teeth found her lips once more, causing drops of blood to land on the resplendent blue trail…


They were both panting now, starting to feel the ends of the hex. Attempting to go any further ran the risk of a rather nasty backlash. The two took this rare moment of respite to admire their work on each other's bodies.

She'd stripped Morgan down to nothing, thrown all his clothes around the chapel. His pale skin was covered in her marks. Her smeared lipstick, nail marks, and copious love bites. It would all be covered by his usual apparel, with the exception of maybe the twin smears of purple on his cheeks.

Tharja was more dressed, but no less lacking in his form of affection. She'd made him make do on that vow, and had transformed her outfit pure white. Dried cum stuck to her, indiscriminately coating skin and dress. The amount of spunk on her body would've made the most shameless strumpet blush...and she couldn't be happier.

Still, there was one part of her that remained miraculously untouched by his decorative stream. She had no veil to go with her new, risque wedding gown. 'We can't have that,' she mused.

She beckoned him to the nearby pew, "Sit down". Morgan obeyed her, awkwardly shuffling with his still hard-cock. Tharja limped after him until they both arrived at their destination. He collapsed into the long bench while she fell to her knees between his legs.

"Now let your bride finish her work," she cooed. Her hands gripped the cups of her dress and finally pulled them down, exposing her breasts caked in his dried cum. "You did this to me...I want you to do a little more," she told him.

Her younger lover nodded, partially desensitized to her antics now. She took him back between her tits, giving him a more formal and proper massage now. Tharja rubbed her boobs along his shaft, looking him in the eyes as she gave him an urgent order. "As soon as you cum, I need you to take off your ring. There shouldn't be any side effects...hopefully,"

Morgan's response was to groan. She took it as him hearing her and resumed her focus on his dick. The dark bride changed up her tactics by alternating her strokes. She eyed the way his swollen crown would peek out from between her peaks. It looked raw, almost an angry red. 'Nothing that a few healing salves can't fix,' she shrugged.

Tharja drooled onto his cock, decreasing the friction between them. She adjusted herself so that her boobs were pinned between her arms. Her now-free hands reached for her nipples and tweaked them.

The sight of his bewitching sorceress fondling herself brought him closer and closer to the edge. At this rate he'd smear her breasts again...which would be rather counter-productive to the creation of her new veil. So she relinquished her bosom hold. Morgan whimpered at her absence, only to hiss when he felt her fingers wrapped around his prick.

Her hands gilded against his shaft, intending to coax out the threads she'd need. Hearing his screams reach their peak, Tharja pumped his cock even faster. She dove down just in time for his first load to land and strike her head.

Tharja mewled in delight, leaning in to his cum blasts. Rope after rope landed in her hair, creating a sticky veil to go with her new bridal gown. Her hungry lips suckled and smooched his balls, relishing the twitching as his tanks unloaded onto her head. It seemed he had no intention of stopping anytime soon…

'Good, I'm feeling peckish.'

Morgan grunted as her tongue swept up his girth, followed by the tight warmth of her lips encapsulating his cumming cock. Rather than nurse him in her mouth, his illicit instructor slammed her own head down, ramming his dick all the way to the back of her mouth. "G-g-gods! Tharjaaaaaaaah!" he roared as his hands latched onto her spunk-covered head.

Her eyes widened as he slammed her head down, taking his girth down her throat. She coughed and gagged as ropes of sticky cum were shot down her gullet. She'd taken more than a few of his loads as a quick meal, but now she was also choking on his girth.

Her younger lover's hands were firmly locked on her head, preventing her from backing away. Tharja was helpless to do anything beside lean in, bobbing her head slightly and waiting for the pain to subside. Her jaw had quickly become numb, followed by her eyes rolling into the back of her head.

Morgan panicked at the sight of his partner going limp and struggled to pull her head off. He made it up to the back of her throat, accidently shooting a copious load of his seed up her sinuses. The young lad winced at the sight of cum running out her nose, dribbling down alongside the trails of slobber and drool that escaped her lips.

Tharja screamed as the burning sensation in her nose overrode all other senses. Her eyes watered as she tried to snort out his spunk. It hurt so much… and gods was she gushing . The slurry of cum and quim flowed out of her used pussy, a testament to how much this delightful pain was affecting her.

Her lips sucked in, as if protesting his attempts to help her. Ultimately, he managed to pull her off, though not before accidently hitting her eye with a less potent shot of jizz. Her eye twitched, but otherwise she didn't react, even when his seed coated her lips. Instead she just gazed up at him, her earlier smolder gone and replaced by utter contentment.

For so long she'd wanted to look up and see the man, the dark god that she knew in her soul was worthy of her fidelity. While she truly admired Robin for his candor and his persistent drive, the cravings her body had for his rich, dark spirit were deeper than any earthly affection. She didn't think it was possible to feel this way with anyone else...how foolish she was.

Morgan pulled the ring off, hissing in pain as his erection finally softened. When she made no move to follow his example, the lad took the initiative and gently removed hers. From beneath sheets and sheets of spunk, her cheeks turned rosy at his intimate touch.

What she had yet to gain in her darling, she had more than received by his 'son'.


"Oh gods, how are we going to explain all this? Leaving the gate open for so long, your dress...Your dress!"

Morgan's fretting had passed the line of endearing to her, and landed in the realm of irritation. "Mm, I suppose that would be an issue," she sighed. Her hands kept smearing more and more of the delightful cum into her body, sending shivers down her spine. "Why don't you lay down and we can think about it...in a few hours?"

Her younger lover rejected her offer in favor of limping back and forth. "We don't have a few hours to waste, not anymore!" he exclaimed. He suddenly felt a chill in the air and turned back to his glowering lover. "N-not that I regret any of it or...um." His stuttering was broken off by her chortle.

"The feeling's mutual. Now are you going to keep fretting or do you want to come here?" Tharja cooed. Morgan didn't bother to answer her in favor of resuming his lipid pacing. 'Well it was worth a shot,' she sighed. She closed her eyes, trying to bask in her post-coital bliss.

The Tactician's son kept rambling on, " If only there was something to explain why we took so long, or why your dress is…"

"Do you have something in mind?" she asked, looking up from her pew. Her eyes followed his to the one croner they hadn't utterly desecrated. Specifically, the gently babbling fountain that had been untouched by fighting or fucking...


It's about time!"

The late tapestry of night had been expected, especially given how long they'd meandered at the chapel. The absence of a full welcoming party was also expected, and even anticipated. Yet the last thing he expected or wanted was his own mother waiting at the gates.

"Geez, what took you?!" Robin asked as she placed her hands on her hips. His mother had forsaken her trademark cloak, leaving her in just her white tank top, short shorts, and thigh-high boots. The look on her face was not just one of relief, but also an alarming tinge of anger.

His comrade-turned-fling didn't leave him to suffer for long, and she smoothly interjected. "It was my fault, Robin. I humored Morgan's little scavenger hunt for that bouquet," Tharja explained. She did her best to conceal the mirth that threatened to spill out. 'This is his idea after all,' she thought.

Robin's anger melted away in favor of irritation. "Of all the...I already told you the bouquet is only for brides, and it's ONLY given out during the tournament!" she explained. 'It was hard enough breaking it to him the first time, now It had to come up in front of Tharja of all people?!' she lamented before turning to said sorceress. "And you!...Gods, what happened to you Tharja?"

Tharja shrugged, her shoulders covered by Morgan's cloak. The dark bride had done up all four clasps of the long garment, hiding most of her body. What few extremities could be seen were wet, including her raven-toned hair. "I got hit in the battle, and your dear little son offered me his cloak." she said. This seemed to placate the mother, who turned back to her son.

"Well I'm happy to hear he was at least courteous enough. I'd expect nothing less from my gallant young man," Robin boasted as she clapped her shoulders on her son. Her proud smile elicited his own thin smirk. Only for her knuckles to tighten down as she opened her eyes and sweetly asked, "Now why don't you tell me who this bouquet was for exactly, Morgan?"

Morgan flinched as her nails dug into his shoulder. He knew she wouldn't hurt her, not physically at least. 'Time to even the odds.'

"I-It was for you, mother." he 'sheepishly' declared.

Tharja watched in amusement and appreciation at how swiftly the young man had managed to circumvent his mother. One coy little affirmation of paternal affection turned the legendary tactician of the Shepherds into a disheveled mess. 'Ooh he's good.' she smirked.

Robin quickly withdrew her hands, now sporting a massive blush on her cheeks. "I-I need to get back to work. Thank you so much for taking care of Morgan, Tharja," she exclaimed.

Tharja couldn't help but give out one last parting shot. "Oh trust me, it was my pleasure," she drawled. Only Morgan seemed to pick up on her double entendre, his mother was already leaving to return to her station.

"Morgan, escort Tharja to her rooms and then I want you in the archives immediately after! We've got a ton of books to process and the other me is still on his mission with Ishtar," Robin hurriedly explained. With her back turned, she never saw the blush on her son's cheek, nor the lewd lip smack from his mother's stalker.

"Y-Yes mother," he called out. She didn't realize that not only was Tharja watching her leave, but so was her son. His vision was less on her retreating back and more on the hypnotic sway of her hips…


So June marks the start of my first Paralogue series for H-eores. Like in Fire Emblem, these are side-stories that aren't connected to the main story. However, these are also not necessarily canon with what the 'story' I want H-ereos to have (and yes there is a story being built up to). The first entry of Paralogue 1 will go up either tomorrow or more likely Saturday (I need to get it torn up by some beta readers first).