What the Reaper Sows (Mortarion x GN!Reader) NSFW
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.”
