It was some time since I sent an ask, but lately I was thinking about my Primarch spouse OCs, and I have an ask: how Primarchs would react if they proposed to their lover, but their lover rejected the proposal. Not because they did not love their Primarch, but due to personal reasons, like bad previous relationship?
This is a fascinating scenario @acgames! Let's delve into it!
Lion El'Jonson
The ring would stay in Lion's hand, but the silence would stretch until it felt heavy enough to crush stone. Lion prizes loyalty above all, so a rejection feels like a breach, but he is intelligent enough to hear the your reason. He would ask, in that low, dangerously low voice, exactly what the previous relationship did to make you fear this. He wouldn't withdraw the offer; he would simply shelve it. "Then I will wait," he would say, and Lion would mean it like a vow of war against your past.
Fulgrim
It would shatter his ego first. Fulgrim equates being loved with being worthy, so a rejection feels like a stain on his perfection. He would be visibly hurt, perhaps even cold for a moment, asking if he wasn't "enough" to override the past. But once he understands it's fear, not lack of love, his attitude would shift to a desperate need to fix you. He would try to overwhelm the bad memories with such exquisite beauty and devotion that you forget them. He wouldn't take the ring back. He'd leave it on the table, a silent challenge: "One day, you will see that I am not them."
Perturabo
He would be angry, but not at you. Perturabo hates inefficiency, and he hates variables he can't control. He would likely scoff, "So you let a ghost dictate your future?" but there would be a bitter understanding there, because Perturabo knows what it is to be broken by things outside your control. He wouldn't push. He would retreat into his work, building something for you and you alone. He'd prove through utility that he is safe, even if he can't say it softly.
Jaghatai Khan
He would be the most patient. The Khan understands that some wounds do not heal on a schedule. He would likely smile, a sad, thin thing, and put the ring away without a word of pressure. "The wind does not force the gate," he will say. He would respect your autonomy enough to step back, but he wouldn't leave. He would just... ride beside you for as long as you allow it. He would wait for you to come to him, knowing that if he chases, you will only run further.
Leman Russ
He would be loud. Not in anger, but in sheer, baffled frustration. "I am not him!" Leman would roar, pacing the room like a caged wolf. He would take it personally, as if your past is insulting his honor. But once the noise settles, Russ knows what it is to be a beast feared by those who should love him. He would grunt, toss the ring onto a table, and say, "Fine. No ring. But I'm not going anywhere, my mate. You can't scare me off."
Rogal Dorn
He would be stoic, but devastated. Dorn views marriage as a fortress, a permanent structure of safety. To have that rejected would feel like a structural failure. He would analyze your reasons with cold logic, trying to find the flaw in the argument that leads to "no." But when he realizes it's emotional, he would freeze. Dorn doesn't know how to siege a feeling. He would likely just nod, put the ring away, and double down on proving he is unbreakable until you believe it.
Konrad Curze
He would expect it. In fact, he might be relieved that you finally saw the truth: that being with him is dangerous. He would laugh, a dry, humorless sound, and say, "Wise. You should fear me." But if you explained it was about past trauma, not him, Curze would go quiet. He knows the texture of fear better than anyone. He would retreat into the shadows, watching you from afar, convinced you are safer without him, but unable to actually leave you alone.
Sanguinius
He would be heartbreakingly gentle. Sanguinius would see the pain behind your refusal and prioritize that over his own desire. He would likely kneel still, taking your hand, and say, "I am not him. And I will spend every breath proving it." Almost-your-Angerl would be sad that you were hurt before you met him. He would keep the ring, not as a promise of marriage, but as a promise of patience. He would become your sanctuary, waiting for the day you feel safe enough to say yes.
Ferrus Manus
He would be blunt. "Then we fix it," Ferrus would say, as if your trauma is a broken bone that needs setting. He wouldn't understand the nuance of emotional scarring. He would be frustrated that you won't just accept his strength. But he wouldn't leave. He would stand there, solid and say, "I'm not going to break. And I'm not going to hurt you. Take your time." He would show up every day, a relentless, metallic presence that refuses to be shaken.
Angron
He would be volatile. The rejection might trigger the Nails, or at least make him restless and aggressive. He doesn't have the vocabulary for "trauma" in a healthy way. He might howl, "Why?!" and pace, terrified that you are leaving him. But if you explain, he would suddenly go very still. He knows what it is to be a victim. He would growl, low in his throat, and sit near you, not touching, just... guarding. He would understand fear better than love.
Roboute Guilliman
He would be pragmatic. Guilliman would view the rejection as a strategic setback, but he would respect the logic of your emotional state. He would likely draft a plan to "address the root causes of your hesitation." He wouldn't be pushy, but he would be present. Roboute would integrate himself into your life so thoroughly that you realize the structure is already built. He would wait, patiently, until the data supports a second proposal is obtained.
Mortarion
Mortarion expects rejection. He expects everyone to leave eventually. So this would just confirm his worldview. "I knew it," he would mutter, turning away. But if you stayed, if you explained it wasn't about him, he would pause. Mortarion knows what it is to carry rot inside you. He wouldn't ask again. He would just let you stay by his side, assuming that eventually, you'll realize nowhere else is safe either.
Magnus the Red
He would be sorrowful. Magnus would look into your soul and see the scars, and it would grieve him that he cannot magic them away. He would likely say, "I see the chains that bind you. I wish I could break them." He wouldn't pressure you. He would use his arts to make your life easier, softer, hoping to show you that magic can be safe. He would wait, reading the stars for a sign that the time is right.
Horus Lupercal
Horus hates losing, but he knows how to lose gracefully. He would smile, a sad, warm thing, and say, "I can wait. I have all the time in the world." But inside, he would be calculating. He would work to become so indispensable, so warm, that the past fades into irrelevance. Your Warmaster would court you without the ring, winning you over piece by piece until the answer has to be yes.
Lorgar Aurelian
He would be devastated, but he would spiritualize it. He would see your trauma as a test of faith. "We shall pray for healing," he would say, taking your hand with reverence. He wouldn't see it as a rejection of him, but as a wound in the universe that needs mending. Lorgar would become even more devoted, treating you like a broken saint that needs to be whole before the sacrament can be completed.
Vulkan
He would be the kindest. Vulkan would see your fear and immediately regret causing it. "I am sorry," he would say, putting the ring away. "I did not mean to frighten you." He would never bring it up again unless you did. He would just love you, loudly and warmly, cooking for you, building for you, being the safest thing in the galaxy. He would wait forever if it meant you felt safe for one day.
Corvus Corax
He would vanish. Not literally, but emotionally. He would retreat into his shell, assuming he moved too fast, that he was too much. Corvus would respect your boundary absolutely, perhaps too much. He would watch from the shadows, ensuring you are safe, but he wouldn't approach. He would wait for you to find him in the dark, knowing that if he comes out, he might scare you again.
Alpharius Omegon
They would be unreadable. They would smile, put the ring away, and say, "Understood." But they would already be working. They would investigate the past relationship, find the people who hurt you, and quietly remove them from the equation. They would engineer situations where you feel safe, where you are supported, where the answer naturally becomes "yes." They wouldn't ask again. They would just make sure the next time you think about it, there is no reason to say no.
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Hey! I now have more here! (and here)
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+Taglist (if you want to be added - let me know, I suck at not-direct communications): @beckyninja, @the-mysterious-detective, @randomlyappearingartist, @nereidof40k, @bookandyarndragonwritesdark, @renegadesyx, @incrediblethirst, @omg1wanttidd1es-sb, @stpdeletacc, @baldieboi , @acgames, @veryspecificreason, @jackalwolfsoul, @hopefully-grimderp, @acexsmhking, @trackerkitsune, @catabibaz0n , @subtlepoisonknowledge, @yyourmotherr, @riokunova, @marcela2000, @f1shz , @rogalist-of-dorns, @aggresivemenace, @passionofthesith, @t-boneless, @tea-ring, @nightlordlover, @lithiummoonfox, @warhorny-on-main, @candorarchives, @mehiwilldoitlater, @boxguy2bear, @pippinsquishums, @loverofbumblebees, @aprofessionaln00b
AN: Okay so... it's definitely been a while since I've written, and actually finished and posted something. This is my first WH40K fic, I've only read the Dark Imperium trilogy and have just started Buried Dagger at the time of posting this, so please forgive any mischaracterization, I tried my best! Also this is my first time writing anything even close to egg laying, so sorry if it's poorly written. Anyway I hope you enjoy!
TW: mentions of body horror, masturbation, aphrodisiacs, egg laying, mentions of oviposition, possessive behavior, descriptions of rot, decay, disease, and sickness, Nurgle's Garden
Not Beta-Read, please forgive any mistakes! Also cross-posted to AO3, which you can read here!
Taglist, since I've been requested to add one! Please let me know if you'd like to be added!
@catabibaz0n @aggressivemenaceowo
Discolored mud and the slimy grass of the shallow bog squelched beneath the weight of ceramite boots the color of tarnished bronze and moldering green of corruption as Mortarion stalked through Nurgle's garden. Above, the sun shone through the sickly green haze of the humid air, the putrid stench of rot and decay filling the primarch's lungs with each wheezing breath he took. The wind was gentle, but hot and sticky, ruffling the torn and moth-eaten cloak on his back as he walked. He was in no hurry, advancing slowly through the wetlands towards the deeper part of the forest. Distantly, he could hear the droning of daemons counting endlessly mixing with the mad giggles of playful nurglings and cacophonous drums of plaguebearers. Mortarion closed his eyes as he walked, tuning out the din; he knew the path by heart at this point, visiting whenever time would allow him to pull away from his duties as the Daemon Primarch of Nurgle.
He walked for what felt like hours, but he knew it was only a few minutes, given the warp's tendency to skew time between realspace and the immaterium. He continued deep into the forest until the only sounds were the constant buzzing of flies and wind blowing through the rotting leaves of dying branches, high above him in a canopy of perpetual decay and rebirth. Up ahead, a clearing came into view, where he finally came to a stop in front of a massive, lone tree. Mortarion’s rheumy gaze lifted to look up at the only cocoon on the gnarled branches, high up out of the reach of any lesser daemons that may stumble upon it. He shook out his tattered wings and let the warp's energy flow through them, lifting him up to be level with the pod. Like many of the trees in Nurgle's garden, the cocoon hanging from the branch was made up of a thick membrane, rubbery and slick to the touch. But this one specifically was special to him.
Because inside was you, his love, his consort. Unconscious, a half-formed daemon of Nurgle, waiting to be reborn.
“I have returned, my love,” Mortarion wheezed out as he raised an armored hand to steady himself against the slick membrane and gently pressed his forehead to peer inside, observing your form curled in the fetal position and suspended in a thick slime, “Have you missed me as much as I have you?”
He knew he wasn't going to get an answer, but that wasn't going to stop him from talking to you, his most beloved.
“You are looking well since my last visit, much more developed, though I admit it has been some time. You must forgive me for my absence, there have been many developments since you began your slumber that have kept me away,” Mortarion continued raspily.
You couldn't hear him of course, and idly he wondered if you'd even remember him by the time you'd wake from your slumber. Would you know how long you were asleep? Or would you merely think that no time had passed at all since you'd been embraced by Grandfather? Would you remember the slow, agonizing feeling of the acidic mucous disintegrating you, flesh and bone? Would you remember the burn of muscle slowly stitching itself back together as you reformed in Grandfather's image?
“Oh, pet,” Mortarion murmured, closing his milky white eyes and running his hand over the curve of the sac, pretending he was soothingly stroking your back like he used to all those years ago, “You've been gone for so long. But I am patient and I shall endure, as I always have. And you… you will be beautiful in your ascension, perfected by plague and rot, and dressed in decay. And once you are back by my side, nothing will ever hurt you again, I promise.”
Mortarion sighed as he gently embraced your cocoon, his breath rattling sickly in his chest as he imagined how Nurgle's gifts would choose to manifest in you. Would you grow horns and tentacles like his sons? Extra eyes? Mouths and teeth? Wings or claws? He shuddered pleasantly at the thought, imagining you with a great pair of wings to match his own. Oh, how he longed to hold you again, to see you smile, hear you call his name. Idly, he began to rock his hips against the sac of your membrane, picturing all the ways you'd turn out. He's pictured this for millenia and each time is a little bit different.
This time, Mortarion toyed with the idea of you growing an extra long, dexterous tongue, and groaned, shifting his hips closer as he imagined how it would feel to have your tongue on him, teasing him, how it would feel to choke on it when you kiss him long and deep. He lowered one of his hands to squeeze at his hardening cock through the stained, worn cloth of his armor, letting out a low growl at the pleasure.
“My love…” Mortarion muttered raspily, desperately grinding into his hand, “Come back to me soon… I need you… you belong to me… with me…”
Phlegm rose in his throat as he grunted, momentarily choking on a hacked cough and inadvertently squeezing his cock harder in his hand. He let out a pained, rattling whimper and withdrew his hand, ignoring the wet stain of pre-cum on the cloth in favor of stroking your cocoon again, coating his hand in the mucous lining the membrane.
“No… not yet, my dearest,” he stated, milky gaze raking over your half-formed body, “not yet… you're not ready yet… but I will help you, as I always do.”
With a final press of his forehead to your birthing sac, he pulled away and returned to the ground, folding his wings as he walked up to the rotting trunk of the tree you hung from. He placed his hand on the decaying bark, standing for a few moments as he felt the pulse of the warp's power echo through the tree, nourishing your cocoon. The chains of his censers adorning his armor clinked together then, as he kneeled at the base of the trunk, tugged a dirty vial from the confines of his armor with one hand, and dug a hole in the mud at the base of the tree with the other. He removed the cork and held the vial up to his rebreather, where he opened the filters to take a deep huff of the vial's contents. Mortarion's eyes rolled back in his head momentarily at the heady rush of pheromones entering his system.
He closed his eyes with a choked hum as he let the aphrodisiac do its work. A prickling warmth spread through his body, the muted arousal that had been simmering in the pit of his stomach being stoked to a roaring flame. Mortarion tugged the cloth between his legs aside, then, and took himself in hand, losing himself in visions of you. How magnificent you'll look when you slide from your birthing sac, completing your ascension to daemonhood with Nurgle's blessing. How beautiful you'll look by his side as together you drag corpse-worshippers into the loving arms of Grandfather, and how perfect you'll feel, stretched around his aching cock after millenia spent yearning for your return.
Oh, how sweet it will be.
A ragged moan tears past Mortarion's lips as he leaks at the thought, slick coating his armored hand as precum mixed with the mucous from your cocoon quicken his strokes along the length of his cock. He gripped the tree trunk in his free hand, clawing at the rotting bark and leaving deep grooves, but he couldn't care less about that in the moment as he began thrusting his hips into his hand with deep, guttural grunts. His breathing rattled in his chest as he panted, shuddering as another wave of pleasure from the effects of the aphrodisiac wracked his frame.
Close, he was close, toeing the precipice of ecstasy as he imagined you on your knees beneath him, your heavenly mouth around his cock, tongue teasing his tip so sinfully he'd sacrifice a hundred worlds in a heartbeat just to feel it again. Mortarion's hand tightened just the slightest bit more around his weeping, slicked cock and he let out a raspy growl as another vision flashed in his mind. You, pinned beneath him, stuffed to the brim with his cock as he filled you, first with his cum, then, his eggs.
Oh, how beautiful you'd look, his cum leaking out of you, fat and round with his eggs, your children…
Our children. Yours and mine. Mine. Mine. Mine.
You were his, and you always would be. It was that thought that sent a burning heat through his veins, his hand losing its rhythm as his balls drew tight and stomach clenched. Hot, thick seed spilled from his tip and he let out a long, wheezy moan as he stroked himself through the orgasm, his cum coating his cock and further sullying the armor of his long ruined gauntlet. His great, tattered wings shuddered with pleasure, muscles twitching as his mind blanked momentarily from the sudden rush of dopamine.
A rare, blissful haze blanketed over his mind as he stared down at the seed seeping into the mud, and his eye twitched as he felt a pressure build at the base of his cock. With a low groan, Mortarion stroked the knot further up his dick until it built at the tip. He shuddered pleasantly in overstimulation as the first egg eased out and landed with a pathetic plop into the hole he'd dug in the mud. The breath in his lungs crackled as he grunted, massaging out another egg, and then another, watching as they piled into the hole at the base of the tree. It was a shame they had to be wasted each time he visited, but if he could not lay them in his beloved, then they were better suited to serve as extra sustenance for the soil of the tree that bore your cocoon.
Despite his dour personality, Mortarion had always strived to provide for you, his beloved, the only thing he had ever truly cared for in the galaxy. And even if you could not thank him for it now, mid-transformation as you were, he knew that when you were by his side again the two of you would have ample opportunity to make up for the lost time; he would make sure of it. With a final stroke of his hand, the last of his spent seed dripped from his tip to the ground below, and he took a deep, steadying breath that rattled in his chest before pushing the disturbed mud back over the eggs, burying them and any evidence of his deeds.
Mortarion stood then, letting the cloth fall back into place, and made his way back over to your birthing sac. You hadn't moved, of course you hadn't; but that didn't stop him from stroking his cum-covered hand over the membrane by your sleeping face to indulge the fleeting feeling of affection he felt in his chest.
“Shh… don't worry, my love,” he cooed with a wheezy sigh, pressing his forehead against the cocoon again, tracing the outline of your body with his hands, “Not much longer now… soon, you will return to my side. I only ask that you wait for me as I have waited for you, so that I may be here when you open your eyes. Let me be the first to witness your ascension… and to welcome you back to my side as my dearest consort.”
He pulled away then, folding his wings, and with a final glance at your cocoon over his shoulder, withdrew from Nurgle's garden, a final promise muttered so softly, it was barely heard over the droning of the lethargic flies buzzing in the humid air.
“Grow well, my love; until your ascension is complete, I shall wait. I will endure.”
Lion El'Jonson
You are expected to be a perfect lady tending to the Lord's estate while he is indisposed. Logistics, provisions, domestic matters, everything is under your supervision and everything must stay exactly as Lion himself would have wanted it.
Fulgrim
Join the Father in his eternal debauchery. Be the most alluring, desirable, and wild thing that there is to offer in all the known galaxies. Not necessarily by his side, but always welcoming, always ravenous, always hoping for the next pleasure.
Perturabo
Abandon your flesh and become a metal voice by his side, calculating, meticulous, and unfeeling, just as he himself now is.
Jaghatai Khan
A wife of a great khan is expected to manage Chogoris to the best of her ability while the Khan himself is away. You will be expected to manage it as a well-oiled machine, manage domestic and dispute matters to the best of your ability, if not his.
Leman Russ
Matron Mother of all the wolves, you are the heart of the home, the presiding matron that conducts the feast, punisher of the guilty, and watcher over the next young generation. You are the heart, you are the home, you are the law.
Rogal Dorn
You are the structure, unyielding and unbending. Everything he was, you now represent. And you must stay unbroken until his return.
Konrad Curze
You are but an echo of his madness. Yet yours is still strong nonetheless. They do not specifically respect you, but they must fear you if you want to keep your head on your shoulders.
Sanguinius
Beloved one, you are venerated, you are exalted, you are adored, your tears mixed into their joining chalice. Your poetry is the psalms they learn by heart. Your beauty is the one they dedicate each victory to. Their father might be dead, but you are still here to provide any comfort you can.
Ferrus Manus
You are the iron in the forge, the steady hand that keeps the flame alive while the master is gone. You are expected to be practical, unyielding, and impossible to break. You are the reminder that duty does not soften, even when the heart does. You are the anvil upon which their resolve is tested, and you will not crack.
Angron
You are the bloodied crown, the living reminder of what he lost and what he might still become. You are the only thing that can quiet the rage, even for a moment. You are the tether, the anchor, the one thing that keeps the storm from swallowing everything in its path. You are not safe. You are necessary.
Roboute Guilliman
Most perfect lady of Ultramar, your word is law, your desire is law, everything you say is the law and it will be recorded. You are to stay at the helm until the father can be brought back from his stasis. And you are the only light that shines in their lives.
Mortarion
You are the silence in the poisoned air, the stillness in a world that rots. You are expected to endure, to withstand, to outlast. You are the cold wind that keeps the weak from growing complacent. You are the shadow that reminds them death is always watching.
Magnus the Red
You are the flame in the library, the whisper in the forbidden halls. You are the one who holds the knowledge he left behind, the one who speaks his name when the stars go dark. They do not just obey you, they seek you, because you are the closest thing to his voice that remains.
Horus Lupercal
You are both relic and the future, no longer needed and yet a must to have in daily life. You are not requred, but you are a symbol nonetheless.
Lorgar Aurelian
Join the exalted Father by His side in His cathedral. Sing His praises. Be His voice. Be His oracle. And they will follow you like no tomorrow.
Vulkan
You are the heat of the anvil, the heart of home, the sureness of tomorrow, the Lady Drake presiding above all of them, protecting them as Vulkan himself would have protected his heart. You are relentless, you are fire, and you will always be on guard.
Corvus Corax
You are the shadow that walks beside the light, the silent guardian of those who cannot protect themselves. You are not seen, but you are felt. You are the whisper in the dark that keeps the nightmares at bay. You are the watchful eye, the unseen hand, the one who ensures the flock survives even when the shepherd is gone.
Alpharius Omegon
You are the question without an answer, the riddle wrapped in silence. You are both seen and unseen, known and unknown. They do not know whether to follow you or fear you, and that is exactly how it should be. You are not a ruler. You are a variable. And variables change everything.
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Hey! I now have more here! (and here)
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+Taglist (if you want to be added - let me know, I suck at not-direct communications): @beckyninja, @the-mysterious-detective, @randomlyappearingartist, @nereidof40k, @bookandyarndragonwritesdark, @renegadesyx, @incrediblethirst, @omg1wanttidd1es-sb, @stpdeletacc, @baldieboi , @acgames, @veryspecificreason, @jackalwolfsoul, @hopefully-grimderp, @acexsmhking, @trackerkitsune, @catabibaz0n , @subtlepoisonknowledge, @yyourmotherr, @riokunova, @marcela2000, @f1shz , @rogalist-of-dorns, @aggresivemenace, @passionofthesith, @t-boneless, @tea-ring, @nightlordlover, @lithiummoonfox, @warhorny-on-main, @candorarchives, @mehiwilldoitlater, @boxguy2bear, @pippinsquishums, @loverofbumblebees, @aprofessionaln00b
mortarion brainrot so bad rn im thinking about him getting freaky in Nurgle's Garden waiting for his beloved to be reborn blessed by Grandfather's gifts and imagining how they'll turn out is what gets him hot and bothered
