#typhus the traveler x reader

[moodymisty]

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙| 𝕬𝖔3 ]

Author’s note: Send help. Send a therapist I don’t know I just need some form of mental health assistance.

Relationships: Typhus/Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW (god save me), Disgusting Nurgle stuff, Fingering, Like 72 degrees of unsafe sex, Implied sex pollen/aphrodisiac, Noncon, Stockholm syndrome, Tentacles,

It’s a massive room, at one point it might have been a cathedral; To Mortarion, to the Emperor, or who else else the Death Guard worshiped before falling to Nurgle. Slime leaks from the walls and rusts away at the metal, eating holes in piping and supports alike. Tentacles, spores and other types of biomass litter it, with little botflies fluttering about. What they're doing you don't know, but they catch your eye every now and again.

It's not as if you can do much else. He's taken your hope, your energy, your home.

In the center of all this rot and decay is your place; A flowerbed of sickly blossoms and blooms, moss and mushrooms all infected by Nurgle.

A beautiful flowerbed for his own little Isha, Calas had said. Though he’s no longer Calas, is he? Typhon has become Typhus, and you've become prisoner.

You now lay on your bed of rotten blooms, picking at flower petals. You can’t escape him- even if you escaped this massive rotten cathedral, where would you go? This ship is his, and you’re deep in what is now heretic space.

He won’t let you die; He won’t let you leave. Bare skin lays against the sticky moss, spores brushing against you.

He’d taken your clothes after the last time, other than the thin cloth that serves as a near useless, dress. You suppose he finds a sort of elegance to it- a maiden in white amidst a pit of disgust. Another parallel to Isha. He's been meticulous in recreating it all so he has his own glimmer of light betwixt a defiled cathedral and a ship of the most putrid diseases.

You can only lay hopeless, displayed on your flowerbed underneath corruption forming a mockery of trees with budded flowers, rotten petals falling to the floor. Typhus’ own altar to whatever desires he has in his head.

Suddenly movement causes you to raise upward, restoring your sanity and consciousness. You’ve never heard even close to this much noise before, not even when the Death Guard were forming up to invade a poor, hopeless planet.

“In here!”

You turn your head to the massive cathedral doors, watching them shake before giving way and pushing apart with loud creaking. Your heart pounds in your chest with more hope than you’ve ever had before, at the sight.

It’s Astartes! A squad of them. You don’t know where they’re from or what they’re doing here, but they’re here to save you from this. Save you from him. To finally either pull you from this rotten ship or kill you here, and finally end this state of undeath Typhus has you lingering in.

One of the Astartes comes closer and reaches for you, and you weakly reach out a hand for him. You try to touch it, but you don’t make contact; it’s like your hand nearly falls through.

“What happened?”

He says, and you wish you had the ability to explain. How Calas has changed, the ship becoming nothing more than a vessel of disgust and disease.

“Help me,” You weakly say, but it feels like you’re trying to speak underwater.

Where did the other Astartes disappear to?

The marine’s armored hand reaches down to grasp your bare arm, and you think you hear him say your name. But how would he know it?

He says it again, and again…

And then your body jolts, legs straightening as your eyes open. Your lips part as you gasp, taking in so deep a breath you almost choke on the air.

“There you are, my girl.”

The man once called Calas looks over you while on his knee, the grill of his helmet hiding what is left of his face.

You’ve seen it; How the Nurgle infection has eaten away at his skin, changing was left to sickly yellow, green and purple. His armor seems entangled with his flesh, becoming one and the same. His appearance horrifies you, and makes you yearn for what once was.

“Were you having a nightmare?”

His rusted gauntlet scrapes across your skin, nicking your cheek. You try to avoid shivering, hands pressing against the ground below you.

It wasn’t a nightmare, it was the brightest glimpse of hope you had since Typhus doomed all of the Death Guard, and it was little more than your imagination.

“My sweet girl, you were asking for help.”

His hand drifts from your face, you wonder why it smells sweet, down your neck then the rest of your body and you whimper, trying to move away from him. His armor feels warm like it's almost alive, and perhaps it is- they're one and the same now.

His massive gauntlet slips between your legs, armored fingers diving between your folds as you writhe and attempt to pull away from him.

“I can grant your every desire much like grandfather does with Isha, you only need to let me in.”

He already is in; You feel his rusted gauntlet prod at your entrance. Your whimper and push at him, in some futile attempt to escape.

“Stop, please stop,”

Calas- Typhus, forces his armor finger into you and feels the way you tighten, pressing your hips down into the mossy flowerbed. Tears prick your eyes as you feel him sink into you deep, cold armor pressing against your cunt.

“You don’t want me to stop; I can smell you. The honey you’re making.”

You want him to stop, you want your skin to stop buzzing and heating up, as you feel your body begin to betray you. The flowers, the spores, Typhus himself, you don't know what he does that makes you lose control over yourself, but you hate every moment of it. It makes tears roll down your cheeks as your stomach tightens in knots over the feeling of his now two fingers deep inside of you, the palm of his gauntlet pushing against your clit.

“Please…. Stop…”

You try to turn away from him but his other hand grasps your jaw, turning you right back. Your body feels so hot, you can feel the brushing of little tentacles across your inner thighs, your breasts, your neck. Whether they’re from him or the flowerbed you don’t know, but they only serve to spark trails of fire as your body heats up like a furnace.

Typhus removes his hand from your cunt to push your thighs wider apart, the bottoms of your feet almost touching. They stay fallen apart, and your hands reach down to grasp at his decayed gauntlet as he pushes his fingers back into you.

Just finish, give him what he wants and then he'll leave. Ignore how good he makes you feel.

He hears you let out a whimper, finally broken. He laughs, the fingers of his other hand stroking your cheek.

“Good girl, just let me gift you all that you desire.”

You can hear the wet squelches of your own cunt as you leak over his rusted, decayed armor, weeping for more without your permission. You can hear in the back of your mind the no no no no no, but it's so chained by whatever sweet scent had filled your nostrils that you can't touch it.

You just want to be filled, by anything.

Your thoughts become your own for a moment as you feel how much you hate when he does this; It’s like your body and mind detach and you can no longer control yourself.

Your hands grasp his gauntlet tighter and try to pull him closer, arch closer to him, begging for more. The disgust of mushrooms and slime and rotten petals falling on your skin fades as he fills your mind with nothing but forced desire for him.

“It took Isha many years to realize Grandfather was her savior,” He pulls his fingers from your tight heat to tease your clit and make you gasp, before sinking them into you again. Your hips jerk upwards, tears in your eyes from how much you want this and how much you don’t want this. “And now you see, as well.”

You feel the tickle of flies landing on your skin, it makes you want to vomit. They always hover around him like he has a gravitational pull.

You cum against his hand as he thrusts his armored fingers deep into you, crying out with a voice now hoarse from your whimpers and cries. He hums pleased behind his helm, as you lay limp in front of him. Your inner thighs are slick, and you feel something tickle against them that isn't his hand.

He pulls his soaked hand from between your thighs, putting it on your stomach as his other hand slips underneath your shoulderblades. He raises you slightly up off the flowerbed removing his hand from your stomach to take off his helmet.

You want to look away, to preserve the memory of Calas. But he’s gone, rotted away. You feel his hand cup your jaw to force you to look at him, your lips brushing against his dried, rotten mouth.

His hand returns to your stomach again.

“My beautiful little flower in her beautiful little garden; Begging to be pollinated.” You feel your mind returning from its foggy state and you weakly kick your legs wanting to get away.

“You are in bloom, my beautiful little flower. I can’t wait to make so many more.”

[ms--lobotomy]

Man. I was going to write more of the Mertarion fic but uh. Uh. I have fleas,. Help they are coming for you too

Summary: Typhus mashes genitals with his perpetual test subject.

Word Count: 1200

Content Warnings: SMUT, needles, captive reader, I'm going to hell for this one, probably stockholm syndrome or something, oh this is FILTHY filthy, death but you're a perpetual so you're fine, tentacles, overstimulation, impact play,

Image Credit: @squishyowl (sorry)

You couldn't die. You'd figured that one out long ago, when he'd first stolen you away, and it wouldn't do you well to repeat that incident, would it? You'd missed your home planet, and the diseases that he'd given you were painful and ugly (to say the least,) but when he'd rewarded you for being such a good girl for him? When those gauntlets traced your bare skin, when his mouth found his way onto yours and you tasted nothing less than the sickening sweetness of overripe fruit?

You'd grown to love him.

You'd heard the shifting of his armor long before he announced his presence. Ceramite ground against defiled ceramite as he slowly sauntered his way in, calling out your name not long after. It sent shivers down your spine, the way he said it. You were stark naked on the ground of your cell, ever bashful about showing your bare skin. It was all the better to study you with.

"Typhus," you choked out, the window of your cell caked in slime and viscera. It wasn't a clean room, not by any stretch of the imagination.

He fumbled with the key to your cell before swinging the door wide open. You didn't think to escape, it wasn't something on your mind. Not now. The needle he carried in his hand was delicate against him, a small glass thing with a clear liquid in it.

"Stand up for me," he barked. "I'm not going to be able to reach you unless you stand."

You stood up. Although his face was obscured by his helmet, you could tell how his eyes were roving the contours of your body. He knelt down, his corroded gauntlet hard against soft flesh as he lined up the needle with your neck with his other hand. You felt tears form in your eyes as he inserted the needle into you. Your arms fell to his shoulders as he gripped your jaw in his hand, forcing you to look up at him. Even kneeling, he was still taller.

He suddenly released you as he stood up. You keeled over on the ground, grasping at your chest. Typhus chuckled.

"I love how you look when you struggle against me," he said, sitting down on the ground. "So weak, so helpless. Do tell me how you are feeling?"

You keeled over, trying to choke out any semblance of a word as you felt the skin on your neck crystallize. You felt the hardened skin as it spread over the rest of your body, freezing you in place. Your heart froze in your chest, but your brain was still running rapidly, taking in everything for the time being. This wasn't the worst, per se, but it would be nice if you could turn your brain off for a bit.

Typhus stood up, looming over you. "Feeling funny?" he asked. You were still as a statue. There was no blood circulating into your brain, there was no oxygen being delivered. He watched intently as you faded out, slowly but surely. Somewhere along the way he removed his helmet, revealing half of a face. The other half looked withered off, a battered skull remaining. He left his helmet on the ground, absolutely fascinated with watching the disease wreak its havoc.

As soon as you faded away, the crystals on your body began to recede back into your neck before disappearing for good. You inhaled sharply, shivering profusely as he put his corroded gauntlet to the back of your neck.

"I would have died," you muttered, looking away from him.

"You should be used to it by now," he replied. "I almost can't believe someone so fragile would still be around."

"I can't leave," you sighed.

Typhus chuckled. "You're catching on," he said, his other finger brushing your slightly opened lips. "So soft, so fragile. All mine," he said. "Ready for your reward?" He left no time for you to respond, pressing his mouth to yours.

You let out a slight mmph! as you felt his tongue part your lips, tasting yet again of overdue fruit. You relented, wrapping your arms around his neck. Arms and other appendages roamed your body, with a tentacle surrounding your nipple and squeezing.

"Nngh-!" you cried as he bit your bottom lip, chewing lazily. He chuckled into you as one of his tentacles found its way between your legs, rubbing slowly at your apex. His hands were at your bottom, squeezing roughly before one left for a brief moment before he struck you there.

You cried out again, your nude form collapsing in on his rough armor. He chuckled as you regained your composure, hands on his shoulders as he squeezed you and rubbed between your legs.

"Sensitive?" he asked, rubbing the area he struck on you with his hand.

"There's a lot going on--" you whimpered. You grinded on him without thinking to, and he chuckled again.

"Oh, you're so desperate for me, my little lab rat," he said, his voice dry and menacing. "So desperate. I want to hear you say it."

Your voice caught in your throat as you clenched around him. You came on him, hard and wet. The noises coming out of you were incomprehensible at best. He smirked, moving his armored hand so that it cupped your face.

"That's not good enough," he whispered into you. "I want you to tell me how desperate you are."

"I need you," you whimpered softly, "I need you and I don't care-- nngh, how. Gods, I'm so desperate..."

Typhus was already undoing his codpiece. When you were finished, he tackled you to the ground, pinning your wrists down. "That's a good girl," he muttered, grinding on you. "Good girl, my good little lab rat..."

You squealed as he found his way into you, stretching you out further on him. His gaze on you was intense, and his grip was no less so. "Fuck, you're so tight," he grunted as his hips started to buck. "So tight around me, I could break you so many times and you would come back ready for more."

You grabbed for the back of his neck, pulling him down towards you. He smirked, pressing another rough kiss to your lips. His tentacles were still wrapped around you; squeezing your nipples, rubbing your clit, keeping you in place. You shivered before you came again on him, loud and hard. "Typhus..." you murmured against his lips as he pulled away. "Typhus, please, more..."

He bucked his hips harder, sending waves of sensation throughout your body. He grit his teeth, fucking you senseless for what seemed like hours before he finished inside of you, blowing his load into you. You let out a sharp cry as he filled you up. Sticky liquid trickled down your legs, pooling on the floor. Both of you were panting.

Typhus picked you up, guiding you to the corner of the cell before he sat down. He brought you down on him, wrapping his arms around you. "Had your fill?" he asked, running his hands up and down you.

"For now," you said, leaning back into him.

"There will be more," he said, holding you close.

Taglist: @bispecsual@justeverythingnothingelse@bleedingichorhearts @nekotaetae@historitor-bookshelf

[kit-williams]

Plague Soup for the Soul

Plague Witch!Rader x Typhus the traveler, Herald of Nurgle

Tag list: @bispecsual @egrets-not-regrets @moodymisty @bleedingichorhearts @liar-anubiass-blog

@thevoidscreams @barn-anon @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan @squishyowl @ms--lobotomy

@plegg

Song on repeat: Hold, Release; Rakshasa & Carcasses

Word Count: 3242 3602 words too many

tw: Casual body horror? Gonna be real people idk how to tag this. Lots of insect stuff, update: SMUT

Food was important for Nurglites. It was embedded deep into their worship, their mythos, always a key part in their legends, and of course highly important to Grandfather Nurgle. For Plague Witches they acted as conduits for two important aspects of their god... as their bubbling cauldrons contained eternal soups and through these soups is how they would preform their magic & spread the love of Grandfather. They say the most skilled Plague Witch would even get a drop of the eternal brew into their cauldron if their soup and their skills of incorporating plagues into the broth was as skilled as how Grandfather did. A good base was the key like with any good soup! Just as much as Love, good ingredients & along with their own ways of enchanting their soups kept them going century after century. But, to get them that far wasn't easy as some would too quick to ravage the body fizzling out rapidly after infecting many... and others would get cold before the potency was there.

Typhus was the Herald of Nurgle... so deeply tied to his god... so he could tell that something had agitated the Lord of Plagues as the Nurglings were not giggling they were frustrated and impatient... no mischievous glint in their eyes, "Dearest little ones," He spoke to the hoard of Nurglings that kept him company the closest one looked up at Typhus with a dopey grin, "What displeases Grandfather? Have I not done enough to sway the Great Game in his favor? Have I not brought his love to enough planets recently?"

Grandpa is pleased with you!" One shouted over the rest before the hoard babbled out, "However, there is a plague witch in your fleet with the most delicious soup! But! They offer such a meager portion that it has taken Grandpa this long to figure out where they are." They babbled excitedly.

Typhus drummed his fingers against his stomach... it couldn't be any of the Plague Witches in his direct service as they all had large bubbling cauldrons and he knew for a fact they gave him & Grandfather their portions; even if it was a new brew they were trying. It had to be a fledgling... a newly blossomed witch with a starter base... Typhus drummed his chin humming. Such a potent base for a young soup... would mean they would be a powerful witch long term and if Typhus mentored him or her... "What is the soup like?"

"OH!" One shrieked as his hoard of nurglings had heard Nurgle praise the concoction, "Grandda says it hits right in the soul! Truly made with love! A perfect base that will lovingly cradle any plague! Grandda must find this witch! They hide from his blessings! I wonder if they are shy?" They all talked over each other leaving Typhus to wonder how to lure the witch out...

The wizened crone rubbed her chin as she was far more pus and pestilence than human at this point as she spat to the side onto a nurgling, "It has to be a fledgling doing this my lord... only one like that would offer so little, not out of being selfish but simply because of how little they have. Cauldrons like these take up so much room." Behind her was her brood of nurglings giggling & babbling as they worked around her cauldron for her as she talked to Typhus. Mortal helpers got ingredients ready passing them off to the bloated demons who giggled as they tossed them into the pot, "There are a couple of fledglings on this ship that I could think might be the ones you're after but their soups aren't even twenty years old... but if it is a fledgling they'll be feeding the masses and perfecting their craft. Though... I question if they are even trying." The crone says dismissively as a nurgling brings a ladle over for her to try and she sips her soup.

"What makes you say that?" Typhus inquires as he is not a Plague Witch and does not peer into the coven politics as why would he they simply have to make sure they give him their best.

"This mythical soup grandfather is looking for doesn't sound like it has any plagues in it. No one on your ship would dare try to make a soup like this without plagues. They might be simply dabbling in the techniques which has made something that infects the soul, a grand base if it exists, which would be wonderful for converting others to the cause. But, there are a few upstarts on other ships in the fleet... that I've heard grumbles and groans from of such young things competing with others whose cauldrons have been bubbling for centuries and millennia. But this is all I can theorize to help my lord." In the list that she gives to Typhus... your name is amongst them.

Your bells jingled as you carried your tiny portable cauldron now full of donated ingredients, used bones, scraps of meat, a few fungi, and other scavenged or bought items. Three tails behind you with bells tied to them via ribbons jangled behind you as you moved through the packed halls. You were excited as you got a small bit of pork as you had arrived when it had been freshly butchered. A small amount for you and the rest for your soup! So then everyone who ate what you cooked would be able to share even if they weren't as lucky as you.

You were almost home and you could maybe take a small nap before- you stop as you look down at the small hoard of nurglings just waiting in a pile outside of your door. You looked up at the many mouthed cultist with them giving you a haphazard grin at you, "I'm sorry miss they had heard about your soup..." You watch as one of them starts to lick your door, "They've been patiently waiting."

"I... I've got enough for them to share a bowl." You sigh softly but you can't help but smile at their antics... you suppose you didn't mind a late dinner. As you unlocked the door they were wonderfully well behaved as none of them rushed inside when you opened it and walked in just letting them watch you. Your own "cauldron" full of soup wasn't much larger than the portable one in your hands as you place it on your small counter. You pulled out your nicer wide rimmed bowl as it was for nurglings... "How paitently did you say they were waiting?" You ask as you grab your ladle.

"Very." The man said with a charming smile as your three tails whiped about behind you causing the bells on them to jingle as you walked over to the pot and gave them a large serving.

"Well I hope you all enjoy." You say putting the bowl down and then handed him a small cup full.

"Oh! Thank you." He says as you walk back into the room just barely hearing his mutter, "Divine Excrement... that's fucking amazing."

Moments like this you lived for... the way others eyes would light up as they would enjoy your cooking. It was always hard to refuse their request for seconds... just as you stood there as they all looked up at you holding the bowl politely asking for another bowl... "Ah ah ah fellas remember what she said. She could only spare us this amount and I'm certain she'll have more tomorrow?" He looked over at you and you nodded.

"Tomorrow I'll have a full cauldron and if you come early enough you can ask for seconds." That got the happy little creatures to cheer as you waved them off as you closed your door.

The cultist looked down at the nurgling with a large eye on its stomach as its iris was beloved grandfather's symbol... it was excited, bouncing all around as it was certain that this was it! The cultist pulled out a small device and radioed his lord, "Lord Typhus we found the witch."

You were tired as all you had left to do was enchant the soup and then you could finally enjoy your dinner. You rubbed your eye with the palm of your hand as the bells on your clothes and tails felt so heavy by this point but just a little bit longer. You thought to how you were close enough to be able to afford a proper cauldron and then you wouldn't have to limit yourself too much on how many people you could feed. Sure it would take up more of your already limited space but you knew it would be worth it! You were getting ready to enchant when you heard the door unlock... you looked worried as no one should be able to unlock your door even if they had good intentions. Your hand grabs the wood of the cleaver handle as not much of a fighter but you were going to try... why was there suddenly a buzzing noise and why was it so loud? The door opens and it gets even louder as you back yourself up into a corner as a Space Marine wedges themself into your door... and not just any Space Marine but the Herald of Nurgle himself... Typhus the Traveler... when his yellow eye lenses look right at you, you drop the clever out of fear and press against the wall.

He chuckle softly, "Well the blossoming Plague Witch that has been eluding Grandfather..." He looks around the room and right at your cauldron, "I can see why your offerings have been meager. Let me have a taste."

You swallow the lump of dread in your throat as you dare speak up, "It's not done yet.. my lord." You quickly tack on.

"Oh?" He said as he regarded you like a scared cat as you were pressed against the far wall, eyes wide with fear not daring to leave the threat in your sight, "When will it be?"

You swallow again, "Four minutes... I have to enchant it first." You hoped he would leave.

But you were not that lucky as he gestured to the cauldron, "Well do not let me keep you little witch. I might be patient but I do not possess Grandfather's long patience."

You inhale as you have to be a brave girl. You peel yourself away from the wall and stand in front of your bubbling cauldron, your back to Typhus. Your mind began to play its song as your head bobbed before your body started to sway as your bells began to jingle. The mouth on your lower back opened up as you sang with two mouths. Your movements were bouncy and at time violent as you focused on the words leaving your mouth and the way the bells rang with such pleasing chimes. You had forgotten Typhus was there watching you. You made your bounding way around your cauldron singing loudly as you were having fun, like you always did, putting your hands together as you crouched before jumping back up with a grin on your face.

Typhus watched as your hair bounced free from its ribbon holding it back. Your eyes glowing a bright green as you were lost in the ritual process as small jars of spices, herbs, and powders floated their way over to you. You took handfuls, pinches, and scoops as you added them in time with parts of the ritual where you weren't singing. The smile on your face wide as you sang louder and louder in a language unfamiliar to Typhus but that hardly mattered. Witches all had their own ways of enchanting and if a nonsense song was your way... he wouldn't question it.

You stop for a moment before violently spinning in place, your bells clamoring, as you sang in a high pitched voice... and Typhus could hear something respond in a voice that wasn't your own. You did this call and response three times. The climax of your enchantment approaches and you sing so loudly before your mouths howl in an otherworldly way. Your cauldron bubbling violently as you grab a handful of a spice blend from a pouch as you pause and chant out the last words before throwing it in. A cloud appears as it bubbles violently changing color from a dark brown to a yellow.

You deflate as you finish dancing. It was always so physically demanding to enchant your soup but it was worth it done this way... to see the happy faces of those eating your food! You turn around and yelp as you see Typhus in your doorway as you remember he was there watching you the whole time. You quickly grab your small portable cauldron and fill it, trying your best to not let any spill as you offer it to the Herald. He takes it and opens up the mouth plate and you avert your gaze as for Typhus he finally gets to taste this soup that Grandfather Nurgle has been pining after.

Typhus takes large gulps from the tiny thing you handed him... Oh! He can feel it worm its way right to his soul like some burrowing parasite! Yet it was like getting a warm embrace from a parent... or even a lover... that filled his limbs with a tingling warming happiness. Yet he could feel it also be akin to a gentle kiss from death... the sweetness of the lips leaving a mark on the skin and yet death fails to collect. He could feel his powers swell... his connection to Nurgle strengthen even! It washed over his SOUL and it was absolutely INVIGORATING and perhaps even a little ADDICTING like getting praise from Grandfather Nurgle.

"Fill it again." Typhus demands of you and of course you obey.

"Someone tend to her cauldron." You hear him bellow out as he pulls himself free of your door and you look confused. As another woman walks in and starts to tend to your soup. You put a lid on your small portable cauldron.

"Wait... what is going on." You say as you are led outside and other cultists lead you after the Herald of Nurgle. "Where am I being taken too." You ask fearfully.

Typhus decides to answer you, "To the Plague Cathedral upon the flagship, my ship. Grandfather demands a serving. And what better place to offer it to him."

You swallow as you follow him as those around you make sure you will be taken to the Cathedral.

You had only been here once before as the Cathedral on the flagship was more like a massive hive as unlike the giant fungi that grew around the church you went to... this was massive with so many insects around. You were led closer to the large ornate altar as it oozed honey as you could feel your shoes stick to the floor as well it went from floor to comb. Large insects of Nurgle skitter on the walls and ceiling as they watched and buzzed the closer you got.

"Come now little blossom." Typhus coos as you notice that the cultists with you stop at the last row of pews closest to the altar and yet Typhus gestures you to follow. The lump in your throat grows heavy as you say close to the herald as your new companions are a hoard of nurglings and the swarms that enter and leave from the large structures on his back.

"Open it up and leave it on the altar then come back right here." Typhus orders and you obey, putting it on the altar before you take the lid off and rush back to Typhus' side. You jump as the braziers suddenly blaze to life with sickly green flames.

You might not have been as connected to the warp as Typhus was but he could see a visage of his deity looking down, it was still a small offering but... it didn't matter as Nurgle finally had a taste of this soup that was eluding him just like the plague that made Ku'gath.

"Typhus! Have you tried this?" The voice said to him as you just flinched not understanding the loud voice filling the air around the alter and you wanted to hide behind the marine but you stayed.

"I have." He replies just looking up at the loud buzzing swarm that seems to gather. You try your best to not cower.

"Blessings! Blessings! How old is this soup?" The Grandfather inquired.

Typhus turned to you, "How long have you been tending to this?"

"Five years my lord."

"All of this in such a short amount of time! Blessings Typhus! Blessings! The garden will surely flourish with her delicious food!"

"Of Course Grandfather." He slammed his scythe into the comb keeping it standing as the destroyer hive buzzed loudly and you flinched.

"Blessings upon thee child! For the Grandfather has told me to bless thee! I come from the garden of plenty overflowing with milk and honey." He says just as if a sermon was being held. "And just as you will be embraced by the garden you two shall be a fountain of plenty... rejoice young witch!" The buzzing got louder and louder as the destroyer bugs all swarmed inside of him. The hand suddenly on your throat has you kicking your feet as they leave the ground as you are place on the altar and he once more removes his mouthplate. "Open up." His thumb rests on your chin and you obey... afraid of what will happen if you don't but equally scared of what will happen if you do.

As you open your mouth he opens his as you watch several destroyer bugs crawl out from his mouth as you can hear the faint noises from him as he... starts to regurgitate something. His shoulders move as his throat bobs and you are left helpless as to what is about to be placed into your mouth. You feel destroyer bugs landing on your face and on your body... antennae drumming against your skin. His mouth pushes to yours as something slowly crawls into your mouth... it's honey.

Your eyes open wide as destroyer hive honey was something that only champions of the Grandfather could have... but only in small amounts as too much would leave one into a mindless warp spawn. You eat the sweet sticky liquid as it just keeps oozing and oozing into your mouth before you... you start to convulse as Typhus pulls away running his tongue around your mouth just licking up the excess and wiping what oozed out onto his chin. Typhus enjoys the sickly sweet smell that permeates from you... or perhaps that is more of the hive's enjoyment as the smell he likes comes from between your legs but he could indulge in that later.

The sickening crack echoes as the side of your skull breaks apart as your hair solidifies into petals and a large, yet lightweight, flower has bloomed. A gift directly from the garden... Typhus lets his hands wander over your form letting his fingers press hard against your breasts and between your legs as you whimper feeling dazed and confused. Typhus decided that later was now as he bit the rough material between your legs and ground his teeth as it was shredded.

His tongue swipes up against your bared cunt as you whimper still confused as to what was going on... why your head was pounding... why there was so much buzzing in your ears... you're cunt quivers as you don't realize how the insects crawl over transformed flesh and lap up your nectar and brush against your pollen. Typhus in the meantime buzzes loudly himself as your honey is far more like nectar as well. His tongue pushing in hard and deep deep into your stigma like an insect pushing their labium deep down the style. His tongue pushed hard against the clitoris trying to get you to orgasm again... give him more nectar... Little Blossom give him more nectar!

You whine out as your nectar is swallowed up by Typhus for his hive to use... and he's not going to leave your flower wanting. He places his codpiece on the altar as Typhus grunts softly pushing the far too large cock inside of you. Your body relents as he buzzes out in enjoyment as he starts to cross pollinate you. Though if he were to go off of his allusion of earlier... this was the milk he had alluded to earlier. But his eyes were focused on the lovely flower on the side of your head... blood pooling in one of the combs on the altar as the pink petals had swirls of your hair in them... the rest was brain matter colored... bones... muscles... a beautiful human flower.

You look up at him still so very dazed but whimpering underneath the space marine as you wonder where you are... not realizing you're being fucked on the altar within the grand Cathedral. "Such a pretty little Blossom." Typhus grunts as he stills and rushes himself to completion as he will have more time to savor you later.

Typhus looks at you as he puts his codpiece on as cum oozes out of you as your flower is slowly closing up as you seem to be passing out. He picks you up and freed his scythe as it was now time to let you rest... for there was much for you to learn.

[c-u-c-koo-4-40k]

The Plague Witch with the Cauldron Full of Love - 2

Part 2 inspired by @kit-williams Plague Soup for the Soul fic!

Really enjoyed the process...except for Typhus's Fucking FACE! I struggled so damn hard to give this man an actual grisly face but could not yet pull it off! So fuck it! Typhus loses his face privileges! Enjoy your awful stinky trash man with his dubious glowing eye(s)!!!

(Can you tell I prefer Mortarion? Jk, I appreciate Typhus too but Mortarion is my preferred wet sad beast.)

But the mandible mouth Was fun to execute, and I am very proud of the eye back ground. Here it is in full...

tag list: @nitro-devil @angronsjewelbeetle @sleepyfan-blog @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan @barn-anon

tag list: @bleedingichorhearts @egrets-not-regrets

[sleepyfan-blog]

Rotten Hope (2)

Author’s note: Part two of the Typhus x Reader fics. I blame you all for the botflies that have spawned because of this.  this 4,595 words long. Why has this man infested my brain so much? HELP Previous

Tagged: @ms--lobotomy @egrets-not-regrets @the-pure-angel @whorety-k @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan

Warnings: dubious consent, attempted seduction, forced marriage (In that Typhus decides that you and him are married now), body horror, tentacles, oviposition, SMUT, mild cumflation, demon bees, please ask me to tag anything that makes you uncomfortable that I missed

Summary: You are brought to Typhus the traveler, herald of Nurgle, to speak with him. You get far more than what you bargained for. 

You could keenly sense Typhus' presence upon this world. The powerful deamon marine of nurgle wasn't bothering to hide nor dim his curdling presence to your senses as you left the space port where your ship had been docked. Your ship - what used to be your ship - was a swift vessel that did have enough ammunition to defend itself against most pirates and would be attackers. Not that they could fend off the full might of a Gloriana class vessel, Her speed could fly circles around the much larger but slower vessel. You were also hoping that they would be focused on the suffering and agonizing souls were being ravaged by the plague, rather than a single vessel of healthy, un-touched souls. 

As you make your way through the streets of the city, you watch as the plague marines and cultists go from door to door, bearing bowls of horrific looking and smelling liquid that bubbled and glorped unpleasantly. the ragged, sickly and confused mortals peering blearily at them, falling to their knees and thankful for the stew given to them, drinking gratefully as the foul substance seemed to soothe the ragged edges of madness that was part of the dreadful blight that had taken so many of the mortals of this world. You look away, focusing on moving through the streets of the city, hearing the grateful murmurings of the mortals around you, tears falling from your eyes as you knew that the horrid stew that they were gratefully drinking would bind them to the Plaguefather.

Ah... But you'd been the one to bring these bastards here. You'd been so relieved to have found an Astartes, you'd forgotten to check if he was chaos-tainted or not, having forgotten that not all of them followed the will of their creator in your desperate search for any kind of help... And you'd found help, as the violent madness did seem to fade from the minds of the afflicted as you carefully move across barricades, still in your hazmat suit, silently hoping that the uninfected mortals realized that Plague Marines had come to this world and they had ways to flee this world, this system before they were caught and either killed painfully or turned to Nurgle's side. 

You knew that you'd been spotted hours ago, and stopped at the edge of the barricade that had been set up by the Death Guard and their accompanying cultists, despair and misery pulling at your heart as you see that the healthy mortals were being stripped of their protective gear and dragged across the barrier one at a time, being taken to where Typhus was. You swallow down the desire to flee, to hide. He knew you were on this world. You had no safe way off of this world, and if you willingly revealed your presence, perhaps you could have the remaining healthy mortals spared from the predations of the plague-ridden neverborn. You walk up to two of the guards as they glare down at the trembling, weeping mortals and call out as bravely as you can manage out "Excuse me -" Your eyes flicker over the corroded metal and twisted heraldry that both of the plague marines were wearing, searching for any clue as to what either of their ranks were. Aha! You spotted it, under the grime and muck "Sergeant, but I need to speak with your first captain, he is expecting me."

The Death Guard on the left leaned on his scythe a little, looking you up and down "The first captain won't see anyone in clothes like that, it's rude. He also said that he gave the one he's looking for a certain phrase to prove themself to be the eternal blossom he seeks?"

You swallow hard as you reach up and take off your helmet, doing your best to keep eye contact with the large marine, ignoring the horrified gasps from the mortals around you. 

"No! Lady Trader, do not-" One of the scientists pleaded, running towards you and breaking the line that they'd been put in, trying to reach for your helmet.

Two of the cultists rushed the scientist who'd grabbed you and hauled them back into line, giggling madly "Now, now, don't be impatient! Grandfather is happy to bless all of you, you just need to be patient!"

"He said... He said that Typhus asked me, little Isha, to come to him while our minds touched one another." You respond, doing your best to keep your voice as even and confident as you can manage. Your grip on the hazmat helmet is tight, but you hope that they don't notice that.

Both Death Guards grin - their fused facial plates splitting open into needle-sharp maws with dozens of spiraling rows of teeth, and the mouths on their bellies opening up and laughing raucously "So he did, little blossom! Remove the rest of your protective coverings and one of our brothers will bring you to the Herald."

You nod, stripping out of the rest of the hazmat suit as quickly as you could force yourself to move, now dressed in the shirt, shorts and shoes you'd picked specifically because it would get very warm in the hazmat suit if you dressed too warmly. It was early spring in this hemisphere and in the blood-red dawn of day it was chilly, causing you to shake and shiver in the cold. "I have done as you asked."

"Darsas! Eleghra, the eternal flower has revealed herself at the gate and is prepared to meet Older Brother." One of the guards calls out.

Moments later, two massive, mutated plague marines walk up to you, one of them on each of your sides and pick you up bodily, walking you into the secondary area. You're set down before a half-dozen Nurglite cultists who begin to frisk you for weapons - as if you could physically stand up to the might of a standard marine, much less a favored chaos marine of one of the Four - before saying "She is ready to see The Herald."

You are physically picked up and carried over to a large, grimy tent where a massive marine is partially bent over a large table, speaking with the plague riddled governor and highest-ranking nobles of the half-dozen worlds under siege of  this awful plague, each of the latter looking terrified and resigned. All of them look stunned to see you - and that you are whole and healthy, especially in the grasp of a plague marine. You should be in paroxysms of pain, gasping and spluttering as the infested flies that buzz around their supernaturally fucked up bodies devour from the inside out. 

Despite his helmet hiding whatever facial expressions he might be making, you could feel the satisfaction and delight that Typhus oozes as his gaze falls upon you, dangled in the grasp of two of his brothers. "Excellent! I was hoping that you wouldn't be stubborn nor skittish, little Isha-"

At that... Petname? Lord Alleg'fel spluttered, his abhuman (not Eldar) pointed ears twitching a little, dark eyes widening in horror "L...Little what?"

"Mmm, I am surprised that you are unaware of the eternal flower in your midst. Such beings tend to be shy and hide themselves well, unless forced out into the open." Typhus purrs "While she is able to die, her soul returns to her mortal form swiftly, unable to truly die. She is blessed with psykery and an eternally youthful body. This lovely, shy flower was hidden amongst your worlds. Grandfather blessed me with her near location and we created this plague to bring all of you into Grandfather's loving embrace... And to bring her out of hiding. Grandfather noted that I had been... Lonely, wishing for a companion similar to the companionship He enjoys with Grandmother, and pointed us in this lovely flower's direction. You are dismissed. My little flower and I need to... Talk... Privately."

Slow burning horror and guilt would have caused you to crumple to the ground, despair and fury hitting you moments later. You'd done your best to stay out of the greater Game that was being played between The Four and Neoth, and had thought that you'd been largely successful. You hadn't realized that all of this was to trap you in one place, so that... What? You'd become a plaything for the favored pawn of Nurgle? As if you were going to lay down and meekly take whatever awful horrors he was going to do to you. A low, furious growl left your chest as your eyes began to flash the bright shining blue of warpcraft, your hands beginning to crackle with the power you'd long since learned to master, your voice booming with fury "IF YOU THINK-" you started to yell, the eldritch lightning sparking around your form painful enough to cause the two plague marines to drop you to the ground. You land on your feet, hissing wordlessly, ready to fight to your death over and over again.

But Typhus cut off your words "Come now, you asked for my help, little flower, and I have given it. Besides, I even ensured that the plague that ravaged these worlds did not affect the mortals you are closest to, despite them being exposed to it."

Horror hit you, cooling your fury like a deluge of ice on a lava flow "What.... What do you mean?"

"Come now, did you really think that mundane methods of infection prevention can actually stop one of Grandfather's plagues? Surely you're more clever - or at least not that naive, my lovely flower. Although it would be very cute if you are. they live healthy and untainted as a favor to you." Typhus crooned, all but teleporting in front of you. One of his massive, clawed hands cups your cheek. The stench of death and decay is nearly overpowering and makes you want to gag. It is not helped by the undercurrent of honey-sweetness that is, strangely enough, part of his scent as well as overripe fruit. "But if you try to fight me or my little brothers, I will remove that protection from them. I have brought an entire fleet with me. Your cute little ship cannot hope to escape my brothers in the void above us."

Despair and failure rip the fight out of you, and your eyes shine with tears. But you do know how to play coy, to bat your eyelashes. You can feel the desire and want radiating off of this chaos-twisted monster, and you desperately hope that you can use that to your advantage somehow. Which is why you lean into his touch, despite internally shuddering at that, locking your mental shields tight, so as to keep your emotions from the younger psyker. "Please don't harm my crew... they are as innocent of my nature as the mortals in these worlds, Lord Typhus. I..." You do not want to, but the false apology will likely stroke his ego "Apologize for lashing out earlier."

"Mmm, I expected at least a little bit of bite and fury, my lovely Rose. Of course you have your own thorns. You merely needed to be reminded not to prick your beloved's brothers when in a pretty little temper." Typhus purrs, giving a silent signal to his brothers, who swiftly cleared the tent of anyone else. "You're so used to hiding and escaping... To have your true nature revealed would cause a fit of pique... As long as that doesn't happen again, I am willing to forgive you easily enough."

"I... I'll try... Would you please let my ship full of mortals leave without becoming ill? they are wanderers by nature and to trap them in one place would be cruel beyond words, my lord." You plea, batting your eyelashes up at him.

"Wouldn't you rather have them with you, my lovely flower? For you will be at my side now and for always. Won't you miss them if they are far from you?" Typhus coos down at you as he scoops you up and sets you down on the table, pressing in close to you as he does so. "When I found out that you're a rogue trader, I was rather expecting to you to be dressed in fine clothes, with pretty little gems accenting your lovely features..."

"Such things are not...uhm... Exactly reasonable to wear, especially in the protective clothing I was wearing over this, my lord. And I did not want to worry the mortals by wearing something... So flashy?" You offer, peeking up at h i m coquettishly, tilting your head a little before looking down "Besides... All of that artifice is... Tiring at times, not to mention ephemeral. And I'd rather my mortals be happy, if away from me, than at my side and unhappy."

"How sweet of you, my lovely rose... And I do like how simply you are dressed. It makes unwrapping you much easier. You are mine, as Isha belongs to my grandfather. We will become one, and you will be my pretty little wife." Typhus purrs, pressing you down on the table. You could hear something creak and shift in his armor before four tentacles slide out from hatches in his armor, each curling into part of your pants and ripping them off of you, as a fifth slid up between your legs and the tip rubbed against your core.

You gasp and squirm, trying to close your legs and shift away from the strange sensation, turning your head away from him as your face and neck burned in a blush that was revealed by more tugging tendrils to be a flush that spread down your chest and across your breasts "L-Lord T-Typhus! Does... Do... Right now? On a table? Is this... Is there somewhere more comfortable to... To..." You can't bring yourself to say the words that burned like acid in your mind.

"hmm? Would you like me to carry you to a bed, to ravish you properly, my pretty little flower? Is that what you'd like? I'll admit, that was my initial plan, but your sweet flirtation and compliance so far has worn away my patience. I try to emulate grandfather, but patience is not my strongest suit." Typhus purrs. You see him pull his face plat off, his face half rotted near to bone as he gives you a crushing, dominating kiss that tastes of over ripe fruit and dangerously sweet honey. When he pulls away from you, allowing you to catch your breath, you see that the sting of saliva that connects you to him has a golden tinge. "I could be... Convinced to take you for our first time together on a bed... But you'll need to do something for me, first."

You hadn't expected the bastard to be a talented kisser, nor to stir up long-suppressed wants. You blink up at him, feeling surprisingly hazy and warm from the kiss "What.. What is it, lord?" You ask, not having to feign the breathiness in your voice from the kiss. 

"For you to taste a mouthful of the honey that my bees create. Considering your reaction to just the slightest taste of it, I suspect that you will enjoy more of it. But I get to share it so rarely with others, and my little darlings have plenty to spare." Typhus purrs, his hands lightly squeezing your upper thighs as he effortlessly pulls your legs away from one another. 

You hate how much that casual display of strength turns you on, and the wetness that starts to drip from your core at that. It's been... A long time since you'd masturbated, and you hadn't had sex in... At least a century? Perhaps longer. "H...Honey?" You manage out, trying to focus. 

 The smug bastard definitely noticed, from the pleased hum and the smirk he's giving you with what remains of his lips -  and he rubs one of his tentacles more firmly against your entrance "Are you certain you want to wait that long? You're already dripping for me~! And this table should be sturdy enough for me to fuck you properly on. I'd also be happy to feed you a mouthful of my honey either way."

"I... haah! Oh! Please... Hnngh..." You start to say, groaning as one of the tentacles that had been content to hold your arms down slid over and began teasing and squeezing one of your breasts, flicking it with the tip of the squirming appendage. His stench was overpoweringly awful, but somehow that did not help you focus through the embarrassing amount of lust coursing through your system. 

"Mmm? Please what, my cute little wife? Please take you now, on the table? Or would you rather I carry you to bed, holding you close as my tendrils work you open to receive me? There may be others out and about as I take you to a nearby bed, precious flower of mine. Not that I mind others knowing for a fact that you are mine and mine alone to tease and pleasure in such a way." Typhus rumbles, the sneaky bastard's hands coming up to cheekily squeeze your ass cheeks.

You’d rather not be paraded around naked for who knows how long it takes him to find a bed for all to see… But the table is hard and deeply uncomfortable as it digs into your back. “Honey please, my lord. I… Would I have to be seen by others like this, on the way to bed, sir?” You’re gambling on what his likely kinks might be, from what you’ve observed of other marines throughout your centuries of life. “Wouldn’t you rather be the only one to see me like this… Shivering and wanting for you and you alone, my lord?” You spread your legs a little, hooking your ankles around his hips as best as you can, pulling him in closer, one hand coming up to caress the tentacles teasing your breasts, making it difficult for you to think. But not impossible.

His gaze nearly scorches you with the intensity at which he looks at you, before a dark chuckle rumbles through his chest and he pulls you in close, giving you another searing, breath-stealing kiss. “You are correct, my lovely rose. Now open up, let me feed you my honey.” His four of tentacles have shifted, wrapping around your back, arms and legs to keep you in place, while the fifth keeps rubbing and teasing your entrance and clit, sending waves of guilt-laced pleasure shuddering through your body.

Obediently you open your mouth wide, going “Ahhh~!” as if you’re eagerly anticipating whatever foul substance he’s calling honey is being fed to you. Even if the substance kills you, it won’t kill you for very long.

A smaller tendril, several shades lighter in color than the others comes out from his body and presses it’s way into your mouth, and he orders “close your mouth around this and swallow once your mouth is full.”

A thick, sticky substance quickly fills your mouth, and you let out a little sound of surprise as you swiftly close your lips around the appendage, swallowing as much of it down as you could. Still, you could feel some of the surprisingly sweet and delicious substance trickle out of the corners of your mouth. The appendage in your mouth flexes and slides deeper, causing you to let out a muffled sound of surprise - the cry getting louder as the tendril teasing your entrance abruptly slid deep and fast into your core, as your walls fluttered and squeezed around the breech helplessly “Mmm-Hmmm!” You garble out around the tendril.

Typhus chuckles, his glowing red eyes dark with lust “That’s it, gorgeous, you like the taste of my honey, don’t you? Take another mouthful, and try not to spell my cutely messy little wife.” He accentuated his words with a thrust of the tentacle inside your spread open cunt. You really hoped his cock was the size of the tentacle shoving itself deep inside of you. You can’t imagine being able to take anything bigger. 

Shamefully, the nod you give him when he asks if you liked his honey is entirely truthful, and you can’t help the needy whines that leave you when the tentacle filling your pussy slowly slides out of you, your walls achingly empty. You can taste another gush of warp-infused honey fill your mouth, which you do manage to swallow all of this time. The tendril in your mouth retreats to merely pressing against your lips. Hazy warmth begins to envelop your mind and causes a pleasant tingling sensation to spread throughout your body. “Sorry… Didn’t meant to spill first time…” You slur out, one hand coming up to collect the spilled honey off of your cheeks and neck, licking it off your fingers as you peer up at him. “Please… Husband… Take me, in bed, for our first time?” You peer up at him through your eyelashes, pouting a little as you press your naked breasts to his corroded armor.

The rumbling sound that Typhus made almost terrified you, if not for the insistent way he nuzzled your neck, leaving little kisses and bites all the way down, from just under your ear, to where your neck met your shoulders. You realized a moment later that he was purring, and the tentacle that had shoved it’s way inside your cunt earlier was steadily pumping in and out of you, prompting needy little gasps and moans to leave you as he presses you hard against the table. “OH… I understand now why Grandfather holds onto Grandmother so closely… Why she is such a precious treasure for him… Mrrr, you are a tempting little treat, but I did promise to fuck you on a bed if you tasted my honey, and I tend to try and keep my promises.” You could hear the buzz of his demonic bees that accompanied him everywhere he went at the end of his little speech..

“Ah! Hah… Please… Amngh! Ty-... Typhus! AH… My lord! Hah… the table… hurtss…. Please my lord husband! Ah! Hah… Please!” You plead, the fuzziness in your mind and the pleasure - somehow amplified by the warmth spreading through you threatened to break what little control you had over yourself and this situation into tiny little pieces. You deliberately squeeze as tightly as you can manage around the thrusting tendril inside of you “Please… bed? Now? Oh!  You… You’re gonna… haha! Make me c-cum soon, siirrr!” 

The pleased growling rumble that provoked from Typhus you hoped was a good thing. “Such a good little wife I have… fuck! You are such a tempting little thing. Hold on close~!” He purrs. You feel another’s warpcraft weave it’s way across your body, and you fight the urge to resist with all your strength as Typhus teleports you and himself to somewhere else.

Wherever it is, it’s softer under your ass than the hard metal and glass table. Warmer, too as Typhus starts leaving more bites across the skin of the other side of your neck and shoulders, his tentacles teasing your breasts and bending your legs back and away, nearly folding you in half, as the tentacle fucking your cunt moves at a maddeningly quick pace, curling and shifting inside of you in all the right ways.

You hazily watch as he pulls away, his large hands fumbling with something at his waist - a metallic thunk of something hitting the floor. You're still keening and moaning at the way one of his tentacles is filling your core full when -

Something larger begins to press inside of you, while the tentacle is still inside. You realize after a moment it's Typhus' cock "Please! Husband... Lord... I... I can't take both at once! You're too big for me, I'll tear!" You plead tearfully, the pain coursing through your body so much more than the pleasure that had nearly sent you to an orgasm.

Typhus chuckles, kissing your cheeks and licking up your tears "Easy now, my cute little wife. You'll be able to fit in both, I promise. Just breathe through the pain. I'll move slowly, I promise... Though you are sinfully tight around my cock... Such a good little wife~! Good girl... Deep breaths... That's it..."

A tiny part of you hates how his praise does seem to somehow be helping you. Your breathing is jagged and shallow as the bastard continues to press in, his thick, long cock sliding in slowly alongside where one of his tentacles is already buried deep inside your cunt. It feels like it takes an eternity for him to stop pressing inside of you, and twice that for the pain to subside.

All the while, Typhus is purring lewd praises in your ear, nibbling on the skin of your neck, and drinking up your tears. "Such a good girl... My precious, eternal flower, taking all of me in... That's it, just breathe in and out as you submit to me... Good little mate. Are you ready for me to move?"

You nod weakly, well and thoroughly trapped beneath his bulk "Y-Yes, please move, lord..."

Typhus starts purring again as he alternates thrusting in with one of his tentacles and his cock, never not filling you with one of them, a filthy string of curses and praises leaving his lips as he fucks into you hard and fast.

You claw at his back, moving your hips in time to his thrusts as best as you can, the intensity of the sensations too much for you to do more than instinctually respond back, moaning wordlessly in pleasure, clinging tightly as your first orgasm hits you.

Typhus doesn't so much as slow down as your walls flutter and squeeze around him, the bastard as he continues to fuck you, somehow able to move even faster as he fucks you through your orgasm. He does, however, bite down hard on one of your shoulders, enough to draw blood.

You couldn't say how much time passed as Typhus fucked you over and over again, pulling orgasm after orgasm from your increasingly exhausted body. Eventually both his cock and the tentacle he'd been using to fuck you for what must have been hours at minimum deep inside your core at the same time, pressing up against your cervix (causing you a whimper of pain, which he ignored) flooding your womb with cum. You swore you could feel your belly begin to bulge outwards at the amount he pumped into you, prompting another whimper to leave your exhausted and chapped lips.

Typhus chuckles, kissing you again as you feel the tentacle press harder against your cervix, before feeling something other than cum begin to fill your womb, bump by bump.

"Wh... what is...?" You slur out, too tired to form the words properly, sending the sensation through the light mental bond that Typhus had formed with you during the sex at some point.

Typhus chuckled and purrs "Geneseed, lovely one. Which you will hold inside of you until it is ready to be implanted. You make a wonderful wife, my lovely little flower." He pats your lightly distended belly with an enormous hand, clearly pleased with himself. He holds you close to his body "Rest, little flower. You are safe with me."

You very much want to demand what the fuck he meant by that, but the psychic pressure behind his command - and your own exhaustion worked against you as you slumped into his embrace, sleep overtaking you.

[angelsworks]

Can you do imagine x Uhtred x a Time travel reader like she’s from 21st century and is struck by lightning which send her into the past and she meet Uhtred who becomes obsessive with her and they are like bound by fate ?

Time traveller Yandere!Uhtred x Time Traveller!Reader

Type: Oneshot but parts are a little headcannonly

Summary: Uhtred is convinced the girl that fell from the sky was meant for him.

Warnings: Yandere themes, etc

You’d been ‘adventuring’ in the countryside. Well adventuring in the sense that you were lost. Wandering aimlessly, picnic basket in hand over the many hills the English countryside had to offer.

It started with rain, grey clouds rolling in from nowhere, filling the sky and creating darkness. Then the wind, as strange as it may started to circle where you stood.

Then you heard it, a loud crack of thunder and suddenly blinding light engulfed you. You felt it warm your body and send tingles shooting throughout your skin. Almost electrifying you.

Your vision was completely stolen for you. Replaced with a blinding white.

It felt like you’d been spinning and falling for hours when you finally stopped. The ground hit you and you felt winded. Your vision returned slowly, gradually becoming clear and free of the many black spots that littered it.

When you could see clearly you saw a man, more like several men. Looking down on you questioningly.

You raised your eyebrows and jumped up. The sudden action caused one to pull out his sword.

“What the fuck?!”

Regardless of how friendly the men tried to be their Initial metallic greeting did little to settle your nerves.

You ran off spouting something about them being crazy and that you’d phone the police.

Of course they’re confused. They’ve just seen a girl fall from the sky with a strike of lightening. Sihtric and Finan are convinced you’re some kind of witch. Oesferth is more inclined to believe you are an Angel. Some message sent from god.

Uhtred on the other hand feel more swayed to agree with the monk. You are clearly special and unlike anyone he’s ever met.

It takes almost an hour for them to get coherent words from you. Making you sit down and tell them just what you think had happened.

Afterwards they aren’t sure what to think. For one they think you’re crazy at first. But the more you explain, the more they try to understand.

Uhtred’s first instinct is to go to Brida.

During the ride you try to make peace with your circumstances. Thinking of ways to get back home. Unaware of a certain Danes growing interest.

When you reach Brida she had a different narrative entirely. She believes you are a gift from the gods. A gift for Uhtred. She sees “strings of destiny” tying the two of you together.

From then on it’s fruitless trying to get anyone to believe you or even consider helping you get back to your own time.

They all believe Brida and therefore want Uhtred to be able to follow his destiny. He hasn’t had the best of luck with destiny.

Spending time trying to understand you is one of his favourite things. It makes him laugh when you tell him of all your favourite shows, modern living and historical events.

“So this Robin Hood, is a fox?” He asks confused.

“No,” you laugh. “Disney just chose to portray him that way. He was a real man who lived in sherwood Forrest.”

He hums, “And he’s famous for stealing.”

Your knowledge of the future does little to warn them of dangers. However you are able to provide more modern medical in-sites. Simple things really like knowledge about germs and diseases.

These ideas help Uhtred and his friends in many ways.

“Typhus?” Finan asks you.

“Yes. I read it was common in this time. With the lack of medical treatment available it could be fatal.”

“Well how can we prevent such a thing?” Sihtric asks you, mildly interested.

“Well you can start by changing clothes at least once a week and bathing frequently.”

They all warm up to you eventually. You become an important part in their group. So when you bring up trying to go back to you’re own time, they’re all quick to shoot you down.

“We can’t risk you getting hurt.”

“You could die.”

“Like you say, we have no way to help you if you get injured.”

“You belong here, with us.”

You’ll have to come to terms with the fact you’ll never go back to your own time every again. Uhtred believes you belong to him. Sihtric, Finan and Oesferth believe your in-site is important to their survival.

You can’t leave them. Not now you’ve found them.

[mangoshorthand]

Arrow of Time- [Five Hargreeves x F Reader]. Chapter 12 (Hard Feelings Part 5)

SUMMARY: When the mother of all teenage tantrums causes time itself to fracture, Five has to travel back to 1831 to repair the damage. But will he be able to cope with what he finds there? On to Chapter 13 >> << Back to Chapter 11

After failing to close the portal in 1831, Five and you have no excuse not to talk. Back at home, Aoife faces her Aunt with a new sense of determination.

Chapter 12: Asshole ideas

You and Five sit in the tavern in silence. It’s the same one you stayed in when you arrived. Five has his head in both hands, looking down at the table top.

“I was sure that would work. All the theory was sound. The first stage was working, it just didn’t have the effect I thought it would.”

“Theories don’t always work in practice,” you murmur.

“Gravity is a theory,” Five snaps, “but you don’t float the fuck away,” and then, with a look at your face, “sorry, that wasn’t called for.”

You scoff, bitterly, “Don’t worry, I’m getting used to it.”

He’s ordered you both whisky and swills his around the glass for a few moments. Still staring into its amber depths, he takes a breath and says:

“We should talk.”

“When we get home,” you say, shortly. 

“I don’t know when we’ll be getting home, dear one.” 

The use of the old endearment feels deliberate. You don’t let it have the effect he no doubt intended but he continues nevertheless.

“We got nothing but time here. I need to rest before I try again so why don’t we just…talk.”

He reaches his hand across the table and covers yours. He’s taken off the overcoat and long jacket and sits there in his waistcoat, high-necked shirt and neckcloth. You meet his eye and he blinks slowly before smiling gently. Does he know how handsome he is; looking at you between those thick eyelashes? If you weren’t still smarting from the injustice, you could almost forget his accusations from earlier in the day. 

“Stick it up your ass.” you say, withdrawing your hand from his.

For the smallest of seconds, he looks as if he wants to throw up his hands, abandon the conversation and flip the table for good measure but, instead, he takes it on the chin.

“Okay. I guess I deserve that. You don’t want me to talk, I get it. So how about I listen? I know what it’s like being lost in time and you always listen to me, how about I return the favor?”

He smiles at you, perhaps a little forced but genuine in intention. You huff. Fine, if he wants it, he can have it.

“Why did you leave me here for a year?”

He grimaces, “I’m sorry. Maybe it was the few minutes I took to work out the plan or maybe Aoife kicked me through a little differently than she did you but I left as soon as I could. I couldn’t have predicted this.”

You look down at the tabletop. It would be satisfying to be able to blame him entirely right now.

“There was a time I thought prostitution was my only option. I have no skills that count here: I can’t sew, I can’t paint, I can’t play the piano. There was no way to support myself.”

He nods, still holding his hand open across the table. You eye it briefly and pointedly don’t take it, yet he doesn’t withdraw it. He leaves it there, an olive branch waiting patiently as you continue. 

“Do you understand how lucky I was to meet Lewis? And I would have been even if he expected sex. How could you blame me if I had been fucking him? Being a rich guy’s mistress is safer than living on the streets. Would you rather I lived in some slum and got typhus or whatever? I couldn’t get home to Aoife if I was dead, right?”

He swallows here, jaw twitching. You carry on, enjoying the fact that this honesty is torturing him. You’re glad to inflict this pain and to do it in a way you can convince yourself is necessary. 

“I want you to listen to me: I didn’t fuck him but maybe you should treat it as if I did. I would have fucked him if I had to: that’s the reality of this world,” you gesture broadly at the air around you. “I’d have hated it but I’d have done it as many times as I needed to. I’d have done anything . If you can’t cope with that idea then…then fuck you ..”

He looks pained. He looks down at his own fingers on the table, face working fiercely to repress something: perhaps rage, perhaps something else. After a few moments, he regains control and nods slowly. A single, reluctant tear drops onto the table from between his closed lashes. The nod communicates repentance as well as acceptance but now you’ve started, you just can’t stop. And you don’t care anyway; he asked for this.

“Lewis is a horny old bullshitter but he’s the closest thing I’ve had to a friend since I’ve been here,” you break off then, a horrible suspicion breaking on you, “hold on: what did you do to him? You didn’t…you didn’t kill him?”

Five presses his lips together and shakes his head. When he speaks, he has the good grace to look guilty.

“I didn’t, but I beat him.”

“How badly? Is he ok?”

A taught muscle jumps in his jaw, “He’ll need a week or so in bed but he’ll be fine. He was on his feet when I left.”

“Let me guess,” you say, “he denied it over and over again and then he lied to you just to get you to stop?”

Five rests his forehead on his hand with a sigh, nodding without looking at you. You shake your head, huffing out a disgusted breath. Lewis was no angel but he didn’t deserve that. You can hear Five’s boot beneath the table, shuffling uncomfortably.

“You’re a fucking idiot.”

Five nods in agreement, still not meeting your eye. You take a few moments before starting to speak again, your anger quietened for a moment as your mind returns to what you were saying before this little interlude.

“He made it clear he was interested.” you say, “I’m just…lucky that he didn’t really expect sex. And…he was kind . With everyone else I was always watching my back. There are all these invisible rules I didn’t know I was breaking. And I had to change so much about myself to fit in: I had to compromise on everything I believe in just to get by.”

Five takes a deep breath and looks up at you.

“I’m sorry. And not just for the way I acted: I’m sorry you had to go through that. I know it can’t have been easy.” 

Then his brow wrinkles as a thought strikes him. 

“But, you know, it sounds a lot like how you talk about your actual job.”

You look at him, confused for the moment, but then the reflection strikes you. Blending in in the 1830s has been a unique experience, sure, but the way it made you feel was wearying in its familiarity. Until now, you’d never known why: the changes you had to make here were more dramatic than those to get by in the business world but…maybe they were equally demoralizing. 

“And that’s the weird thing,” you say, “it’s not all bad here. At least I felt like I was actually doing something, you know? Feeding people- fulfilling an actual need and not just churning stuff back into a money-making machine.”  

He nods again. It’s something he’s privately been thinking for a while but has kept to himself. Lingering anxiety about appearing possessive or controlling had caused him to unjustly judge his own motives in doing otherwise: your career is important to you and he wanted to respect that at all costs. Sure, the high points had been high but, for the last half-decade or so, he’d seen far more lows.

Your mind has moved on; back to the hopelessness that crept forwards like an encroaching tide these last few months.

“I had nothing,” you say, biting back tears. You don’t jerk away when he stretches further across the table and squeezes your forearm, “I didn’t know when you’d come. I was starting to think you never would-”

“You know I’d always-”

You raise your voice, speaking over him, “I bought ads in the newspaper every week. It cost most of my wages,” you’re sobbing a little now, “and I-I had to sell my engagement ring when I got here to afford clothes and I waited and waited for you and-”

His hand is off you now, searching the pockets of his overcoat but you barely notice: finally able to talk about it now, the dam has burst.

“-you weren’t coming. And Lewis was the only person I could talk to about you and Aoife and he was always half trying to get in my pants-”

One of his hands grips your left wrist. He pulls your hand away from your face where it’s been hiding tears and draws it to the center of the table. As your eyes want to shift confusedly from your captured hand to his face, they’re caught by your ruby and pearl ring as he slips it on top of your wedding ring. 

Your breath, already unsteady from crying, dies entirely in your throat. You stare, dumbstruck at your own finger. You manage to whoop in a swallow of air and exhale it in a whimper. Shock, disbelief and something that feels like a small coronary all compete for your attention. His eyes, (unexpected contenders in the competition) win out as they appeal to yours.

“I found it in a pawn shop.” he says, voice low, “It led me to you.”

He smiles unsteadily. 

You can feel tears wanting to stream down your face and your lip shaking with the sobs they’re trying to contain. Speaking is simply not an option just now. You’re lucky the tavern is empty but for the two of you.

“I’m sorry, okay?” he says, drawing your hand to his lips and kissing the fingers, “I was so wrong. I should never have believed what someone else said without speaking to you first. And…you’re right. I shouldn't have blamed you even if you did have to…sleep with other people.” He takes a breath.

“I…you’ve just been so busy recently, -from my perspective- and I’ve missed…” he blinks embarrassedly, “...us. For me it’s been just over two months since we had sex and for the last six months at least it’s been…we haven’t done it often. And I’m not…I do understand , honestly. I just felt … it made me feel cut off from you.”

You’re still staring down at your engagement ring, barely listening, trying hard not to wail and draw the attention of the bartender. 

“And all that combined with me being off my meds. I just forgot to pick them up to come here. It’s not an excuse but it is a contributing factor…I’ll do better.” 

You finally look up at him now, heart fluttering; he’s using his brisk, businesslike tone. It was one of the first things that made you fall in love with him when he set the terms for your initially casual relationship. He’d acted as if he was negotiating a merger between Morgan Stanley and Goldman Sachs. Back then, you had thought it just an amusing personality quirk but now you know better. He uses it to hide insecurity when he truly wants to do right in an emotionally thorny situation. It’s a practice wrapped up in guilt, decades of isolation from others and a lingering distrust of his own feelings. His eyes, perfect green, are wide in his earnestness.

“You’re my daughter’s mother; you deserve more respect than that. I’m sorry for what I said. it wasn’t right or fair…and it’s not who I want to be.”

You look back down at your engagement ring and then up at him again, tears renewing as you take in his face.

“I’m s-so sorry I hit you…I feel worse about that than anything else in our marriage.”

“Even worse than the time you ate that entire pack of gourmet marshmallows Viktor got me for Christmas?” he pauses to wipe the tears from your cheek,  “I can forgive but I just can’t forget.”

You give a watery laugh and he leans across the table to kiss you with his swollen lip. 

“Let her try. ”

Diego stood in the study, hand in hand with Aoife and glaring over at Lila and Luther. Neither of them were impressed with Aoife and Diego’s little idea. Lila sighed and squeezed the pressure points on the bridge of her nose.

“I practically grew up at the Commision,” she said, for Aoife’s sake trying to sound more patient than she felt, “I never heard anything about ‘intuitive time travel'. It’s all logic. It’s maths.”

“But what Aoife says makes sense, ” said Diego, with an appeal, “why not try it? Five’s plan didn’t work the first time and Aoife’s time traveled successfully on her own before: she’s better qualified than any of us. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” replied Luther, sarcastically, “she could kick us all through a mystery portal?” and then, looking at Aoife, “sorry sweetheart.”

“Then run away and hide if you’re so chicken, Number One.” Diego shot back.

As Luther looked daggers at his brother, Aoife stepped forward, drawing all eyes upon her. The set of her feet and the hard lines of her face again recalled her father to the minds of all three onlookers; she even had the little line between her eyebrows, serious eyes fixed on Lila.

“You know how you’re always saying Dad’s an asshole?”

“-Aoife, don’t curse-” Luther interjected, scandalized, but Lila spoke over him.

“-I usually say arse hole but it’s the same sentiment.”

Aoife swept her hair out of her eyes.

“Well, some version of Dad founded the Commission. So if he’s an asshole, they were founded on asshole ideas. If he based all of its time travel technology off of his understanding of it, then they would only know about the numbers-based side of it.”

“Go on.” Lila said, mouth pulled down at the corners.

“And it’s pretty fragile, right? From the stories you guys tell, all it takes is one little kugelblitz to make all the briefcases go kaput.”

“A kugelblitz isn’t little, hon-”

But Aoife waved her protest away and approached Lila, looking up at her. 

“Whatever: but the tech relies on time itself ticking along nicely, right? So if all you have is Dad’s power on either side of the portal, then it’s never going to get fixed. Auntie Lila, I honestly think I understand it. It’s inside me. It’s inside Dad too, only he was never allowed to learn about it. Just let me try one time. Please.”

Lila grinned, again showing her teeth in an imp-like smile.

“Oh darling, you had me at ‘asshole’.”

Aoife returned her smile.

Back in the alleyway now, Five lets go of your hand and braces to try again.

“Keep watch,” he says, “we don’t know for sure we weren’t followed here.”

You nod and retreat to the mouth of the alley, leaning against the wall and watching the street.

Once you’re at a safe distance, he again dials in and the tear reappears above his head. His body buzzes again with electric adrenaline. Grunting in effort, he experimentally throws more complex math out there and then jolts with Lila’s returning echo.

“Ah,” he groans, wincing. The energy coursing through him feels not unlike the powerful orgasm he experienced a little while ago: it’s the same kind of intensity, the same thrill through every nerve. 

And then the harmony- the beauty in the numbers. But something’s different this time. It’s not the same. There’s no order…no logic to this. Something’s…wrong….or right…it’s synesthetic: the logic is like a fall landscape, like the feeling of coming in from the cold, like the sound of fluttering wings, like the smell of burnt toast…like a screwdriver made of orchid petals. All the too many, all too confusing ideas and associations alarm him. He wants to call  out to you, but doesn’t know if the right words will come out or if he’ll just speak nonsense. 

“S-s-ometh-th-ing…” he says, through chattering teeth, “w-w-eird.”

Unable to think enough to try anything more complex, he instead sends simultaneous equations back and forth again. They’re simple, or would be, were his mind not screaming at him to trying multiplying 𝑥 by the tone of light you get in an open refrigerator instead of fifty seven. 

“Five?”

He begins to shake, his arms pistoning forwards and backwards. 

Lila shuddered as she and Five again connected across time, the mimicked power flowed into and out of her, making her chest feel like rotating bike pedals. She could feel it again…the balance. The peace- the perfection in whatever he’s doing. 

Though she would rather eat an entire bowl of thumb tacks than tell Five this, her admiration for him was never higher than today; in these moments of connection. He was good: he was fucking good at this stuff. She’d known it, but she’d never felt it before on such a visceral level. To be absorbing a product of his mind was overwhelming. She could mimic his power, but never do this. 

All though she’d laughed at him all those years ago on discovering that some permutation of him had founded the Commission, it had taught her not to underestimate him. Surely if there was some innate abstract quality to time travel, he wouldn’t be nearing his eighties without fully accessing it. 

“Come on then, kiddo.” she said, with effort, “don’t make me work with your dad any longer than I have to!”

Aoife took a deep breath in and set her feet. She palpated the air in front of her, trying to turn off her conscious mind and access the plain of the jigsaw she’d felt, just out of reach, when Five showed her his Temporal Ambimeter. She remembered the perfect feeling of that last piece going in to create a harmonious picture. Now, her job was to put it back together- even if the puzzle pieces themselves were shattered.  

Eyes closed, she reached into the void and felt around blindly.  Above her…or maybe beside her, or maybe beyond her somehow, was the stream of communication between her father and Aunt, coursing together through this abstract, formless chamber-between.

Her mind has fingers- tendrils maybe? She ‘flexes’ them. They can’t grasp but they can…persuade. They can direct currents of ‘air’ to create suggestions. 

“Honey, are you ok?”

Luther’s voice and the feeling of his hand on her cheek came as if from a very long way away, echoing into the intangibility and needing effort to translate into words. It took her even more effort to respond.

“It’s…I don’t know where I am.”

“You’re still right here. Stop if you need to.”

“No…it’s...”

She perceived the ‘puzzle’: broken and shattered…or maybe it wasn't a puzzle. Maybe it was the loose needle from her Dad’s Temporal Ambimeter, the one off-balance and rolling on the rest of the instrument after what she did to Mom. Conceptualizing it as a puzzle came more naturally to her but, regardless of which it was, it was in need of being solved or rebalanced: it needed nurture.

She stretched out her influence and introduced it to the broken parts.

‘Go on', she thought. 

The ‘pieces’ twitch but nothing else happened.

‘It’s up there. It’s right there. Copy them.’

She scooped the air around them and they give a weak flurry in that direction, like fall leaves whipped by a breeze. They trembled in midair, preparing to resettle but she persuades them again, affecting the ‘airflow’ with her mind’s tendrils. 

They’re floating now, starting to be attracted by the logic in Five and Lila’s connection, seeing the benefit in its repetitive, sure flow. She encourages them, willing them towards it with the influence of her power.

With a sound like a fork being slow motion zapped in a microwave, the tear closed like a sedate zipper. 

“Five?”

He stumbled slightly, regaining balance as you jogged over to him. 

“Are you okay?”

He shook his head from side to side experimentally, as if trying to drain water from his ears.

“We did it. It was weird for a moment there but we fixed it. I got no idea what Lila did but it seems…it felt okay.”

He scratched his chin, brow low in thought.

“How are we getting home?”

His mouth thinned into a grimace, “that’s the bad news. I didn’t know it would close so suddenly. I thought we’d have time to…hop through.”

“So what does that mean ?” you said, taking his hand and pulling urgently on his arm. 

“I…” his fingers squeezed yours, “I think I’m going to need to do a lot of math.”

You both whirled around as a familiar voice sounded from the end of the alleyway.

“I’m not sure that’s wise.”

On to Chapter 13 >> Masterpost

[kit-williams]

Perpetually at your beck and call...

Female Perpetual Serf!Reader x Typhus Herald of Nurgle

Tag list: @bispecsual @egrets-not-regrets @moodymisty @bleedingichorhearts @liar-anubiass-blog

@thevoidscreams @barn-anon @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan @squishyowl @ms--lobotomy

@plegg

Song listened to on repeat while writing/typing: Reckless Battery Burns by Ghost and pals

Word count: 2674 too many

TW: casual body horror?

Blessings of the Grandfather upon you all!

It hurt. Your skin knits itself back together as you crush the last of those strange flies was crushed in your hand. Your lungs burned as you realize you've lost track of time... you lost track of how long you've been held on the Inquisitorial vessel... how they were able to get you to admit your deepest memories when no one else had been able to. Memories dance raw in your mind... memories of loyalties... memories of lifetimes ago... and it all seemed to snap wildly. It was as if fate reacted violently to the fact you dare uttered Calas Typhon's name once more.

The buzzing had finally died down... well in the immediate area as it still lingered and echoed. You pushed out of your now unlocked cell and your heart ached with your long held loyalties oh child of Barbarus... child of poison... as you looked down at the warped Death Guard at your feet. You devoted your life to them... to Mortarion... to Calas... you were with the loyalists when your master betrayed with his father... and still you devoted your life to the Death Guard. Even if their name and heraldry changed after the siege of Terra... you followed ever loyal daughter of poison... because someone had to remember their once noble origins... when their Father's hearts were noble... when he cared... even as you faded into the background you made sure you remembered. Twas the least you could do as a Serf.

But, a young inquisitor snatched you up when you dared question his goals... when you dared question him questioning the chapter on their geneseed. You knew it was Mortarions but it had been buried long under Dorn's or Robute's lineage. Pain became your reality for who knew how long... the worst pain was when they managed to wound your soul directly as those took the longest to heal, compared to when they removed a limb or immolation and everything in between... they never gave you enough food or water to comfortably heal and now you were pushing your body to heal. They just somehow knew you were guarding something close to your soul and maybe that's why you screamed out his name... you screamed out for your master Calas in perhaps some sad delirious hope that your erstwhile master would come and save you.

Calas was rude and could be a little cruel at times but you could see his noble heart and good nature mixed in with that arrogance but you also could see how he saw you as his possession and while he could be a bully... you realize you've missed his funny barking laughter , you found the flatness of his nose a little attractive, the way he kept his beard... just small things endeared him to you and you always wondered what you did to endear yourself to him. That he would put up with you at times stomping a foot at him and snapping at him in your birth tongue and his always cheeky reply back. Perhaps you really did hope Calas would come and save you. You finally pulled yourself away from the body and ran.

Typhus had felt the tug of being summoned... like some demon as his true name was spoken aloud. No one alive knew his name anymore and those that did, even Father respected his new name, all called him Typhus. But there was a fluttering between his rotting hearts as his name was uttered like some prayer though other times he could feel it was as if sludge was crawling between them... barbs dragging... no care for his name and then there was that fluttering again. A desperate plea made for him... his ruined lips pursed as they dropped out of the warp and a gentle tisk left his mouth... some nosy inquisitor looking into things long since decayed. He smirked and barked out a laugh as it was why he was the herald of Nurgle and not his Father. He would bring the blessings of Grandfather to those that dig up the dead!

You ran through the maze of corridors as there was so many dead around, you avoided the zombie like forms shuffling around or had to run through them in your desperation to get through. Your stomach empty as you were tired... you missed your home... you missed watching over the Astartes... you don't know why after all this time you were missing Calas teasing you. You felt so raw and vulnerable... you want to wake up before everything fell apart and this all be some nightmare and you weren't cursed with immortality... forced to watch the Imperium you grew up in fall apart... learn Barbarus' destruction... have your legion fall to some malignant cancer in the warp.

You skid to a stop as you stared in horror at the massive bloated marine. The buzzing was so loud as it was coming from him. The single horn on his head reminded you of lord Mortarion's scythe. But your eyes darted over the armor and your stomach dropped to the floor as your heart raced to your throat and was pounding in your ears racing so fast that it might just give out... that was Calas Typhon. You had fastidiously tended to his armor that you just knew. His head tilted to the side as those dim yellow lenses looked at you... as if he couldn't pin down something... as if you looked on the edge of being a familiar sight to him... as if he knows you shouldn't be alive. You broke first... you always did...

Typhus was once a man named Calas. A man who enjoyed the wet eyes and pouty bottom lip of his personal serf... a man who enjoyed when he pushed her far enough that she snapped at him in their shared tongue. Calas had liked to think he was better than his biological sire... but really he knew he was no better as he too took an unhealthy attachment to the human under his service.

Calas stop... a whimper left your mouth... he remembers the blush crawling over your face... down your neck... down to the swell of your breasts that rose pleasingly as you took in a deep inhale. How you looked at him with those wet eyes as you breathed out No and stop yet made no effort to pull away. Calas would have loved to say that he ignored his desires... Tell me this means nothing... that this is just my duty... you had begged in that moment. You both were hypocrites and liars... in that moment.

Typhus gripped his scythe tightly watching you run from him as he was not a sentimental creature like his father. A swarm buzzed after you as you turned the corner leaving him to his thoughts. He had a feeling what Grandfather Nurgle would say... the eternal sentimental one... perhaps he was feeling like 'Calas' today... so perhaps he would... indulge his sentimental side.

Skin was pulled back as you ran down the hallways and small chunks of flesh pulled away from your muscle on your arms and legs. You nearly slip onto your face as you pass by so many bodies, piles of sludge that could have been human could have been a machine, and piles of armor that their wearer simply vanished out of. You crush a fly as it dug into your cheek whittling down their numbers but you know that they pulled back. You slide to a stop at a rusted bulkhead as it looks out of place. The cogitator is dead and still you try to desperately to gain a sudden burst of strength to pull the door open but fate was not on your side.

You had to escape... you knew it deep down you had to escape! There was an airlock nearby... it was stupid and it was going to be painful but there was no way you were going to make it to the hanger. It was stupid of you to think you could out run him even as bloated and swollen monstrosity that he somehow was slower than a baseline human... you run back past the hallway you ran out of and you watch him, he was still horrifyingly fast, suddenly barrel down the hallway at you all in the corner of your eye. Bones snapped as he grabbed you violently and knitted back together. You inhale as he uses both of his hands and squeezes, you feel your ribs fracture and you screamed out, "CALAS! MERCY PLEASE!"

His yellow eye lenses flashed brightly as he felt that fluttering of his rotting hearts, this was whom had summoned him. Rusted and ruined ceremite clad fingers gripped your chin as he easily held you with one hand. But, Typhus was intrigued as you had no blessing of Nurgle anywhere on your soul and yet you were not putrefying to his touch nor to the bite of the destroyer hive. You make the mistake of feeling tears gather in your eyes and Typhus looks at those wet eyes... OH! He remembers you! His favorite serf with the wet eyes and pouty bottom lip whenever he was difficult with you! Oh it was not just him being a sentimental fool it really was you! "You are not dying." He wheezed out with a grating chuckle as you squirmed in his rotting grasp, "It has been..." He paused thinking, "Millennia." He clicks his tongue against his teeth as you don't look a day over thirty... and he remembers that you had asked for a day off to celebrate it, "What is your secret? Come now, " He coos softly, "tell your Master." His finger gently brushes your cheek as you squirm against him.

When you fail to answer him, Typhus squeezes you hard and you shriek as you can feel that bones will snap soon, "I CANNOT DIE!" You shriek out and with that answer he loosens his hold on you. You rest limply in his hand, like a cloth doll, as you struggle to catch your breath. You weakly life your head and grab his wrist as you whisper out, "Calas..." You watch him tilt his head slightly, "please. Please let me go." You don't see him relish the feeling of the way you say his name makes his hearts flutter like insect wings fresh from their chrysalis.

His barking laughter fills the hallway, "And leave you all alone?" He shakes his head, "Oh no, Grandfather would be most displeased with me if he found out I left you all alone." He drinks in the fear in you have in your eyes as you thrash about after mentioning Grandfather.

"Calas! Calas! Please Mercy! CALAS PLEASE!" You scream out in desperation as you try to pull yourself free as hot fresh tears roll down your face.

He relishes the way his hearts flutter as you say his name, "Shhhh," He pulls you closer, your name falling from his ruined lips, "I am not going to hurt you." He whispers softly petting you trying to sooth you, "You are working yourself up over nothing... just like you would before," He chuckles and it sounds wet... yet there is a buzzing underlying it, "Old habits die hard hmmm?"

"I do not wish to go! Please Calas!" You sob again and he just holds you closer as he hums... softly buzzing... as your name leaves him in soothing whispers.

"I feel so good when you say my name." He speaks after he is certain you've cried yourself into a migraine and all that leaves your lips is a strangled sob, "My hearts flutter every time you say it. But, when one of those other mortals said it," He glares at a nearby body of an Inquisitorial agent and spits acid upon it, "It felt like hooks and sludge pulls and covered them... like they were unworthy to say it." Individuals of his swarm have crawled out and skitter over your flesh and over his carapace as you realize being held in his arms... you barely have any fight left in you. "How did they get my name." He asks softly.

You sniffle, "They... they tortured me for it."

"Awww poor baby." He says as he cradles you close, "My dearest little serf... did you need me to come save you?" As soon as that left his lips something inside of him swelled as he wondered if this is how Grandfather Nurgle felt when saving Grandmother Isha from the Prince. The fluttering of his hearts... was you begging his name wasn't it? Pleading for your old master to come and save you from the cruelty of the Inquisition. Oh yes Typhus had certainly come and saved you! You sobbed as you were too weak from all the torture you endured and now this... it was too much. "Shh shhh there there my little dear you need not answer me. Oh you poor little creature... what did they do to your soul? No wonder you are such a mess right now... but rejoice... your master has come back for you, Rejoice!" He grabs your chin and forces you to look at him again as you just weakly struggle and cry, "Rejoice, but you must call me Typhus now outside of a few rooms. However this might not be exactly the same as Grandfather Nurgle's romantic heroism of Grandmother Isha... what we have is close enough." He purrs or rather buzzes in delight. You watch him pull the face grate away from his mouth... and if your stomach had not already been empty you were certain you would have emptied it. Typhus chuckles at the rolling motion of your stomach, "And just like Grandmother Isha... you will come to learn to love my tender affections."

"Please... no..." You hiccupped out before you dug your blunt nails into flesh mixed with armor as he cups the back of your head pushing his mouth to yours. A dexterous tongue violates your mouth and pushes into the back of your throat. You gag as nothing comes up, as there is nothing to empty, tears roll down your cheeks as you struggle against Calas no Typhus "kisses" you. Your mouth was filled with the taste of an over-ripened fruit and as he pulls his tongue back it feels like he left something behind in your mouth.

He groans slightly, "So sweet," he scrapes his tongue along his teeth before kissing and licking your tear trails, "Oh yes I am eager to get reacquainted with you." His mouth pushes into your flesh in an attempt to leave kisses as you just cry and work yourself back up into a tizzy, "Oh yes... and unlike last time my dear... this will mean something... mmm," His tongue swipes across his maw, "perhaps I might try to make Grandfather a great-grandfather." He barks out a laugh as you struggle in his grasp trying your best to escape but as long as one of his hands is on you... you're not getting away. He retrieves his scythe from it leaning against the wall as he puts his mouth plate back on.

Isha was distressed just like you as the plague lord carried her back to his garden and just like her... you were weakened from your time in cruel hands. Typhus was certain many would see this as but another blessing for him as the truly favored of Nurgle as why else would he be gifted an Isha of his own! He remembers how pretty your hair was and it seems it was shaved off by your captors he is eager for it to grow back and have his nurglings weave flowers into your hair... once all the lingering damage done by the Inquisition had healed, Typus was certain you'd make a fine Isha to stand by his side as he spreads blessings! Your eyes wide with fear as you near the threshold and like a good husband he carries you across it. You may be Typhus' stand in for Isha but unlike the real one... no one is going to try to save you from your new husband.