#nurglexreader

It was a strange little creature, scampering there out in the near-dark twilight fields. At first, you'd mistaken it for a dog— A mangy one, for sure, but a dog nonetheless. It had the joyful spiritedness of an animal that refused to believe anything was wrong with it, and so, with a combination of the gentlest-bristled broom you had and an old kennel, you herded it to a relative safety.

Only when you had it in the light in your house could you see it was no dog, no breed you knew of, at least— Or it had been so horrifically injured that it wasn't recognizeable thereby. Something animal in you screeched to run from it, but you battered that silent with better human nature, and decided on a bit more safety than before. Donning a thick coat and leather gardening gloves and an old mask you had lying about, you wedged a shallow bowl into its cage and poured it some water from a bottle, tks-tks and ps-ps —ing to get its boisterous attention and splashing the clean water. If it was rabid, you knew there was nothing you could do about it, and it was best to call wildlife control and have it taken care of a different way— But you'd nursed some sick creatures to health before, and if it drank, it could surely be saved.

You were delighted to see it bop over in an uneven hobble, noticing one of its legs shorter than the other three; When it unfurled a long, white-slimed tongue from its squashed-in maw and lapped up the clean water thirstily, you hesitantly moved a glove near the cage. Unlike anything wild, it perked up and tried to rub its… Face? Against the leather, much like an affecitonate cat might; Heartened, you pushed leather to bars, and felt the pressure of its slimy, pustulent skin against your hand. It was cooing, or perhaps purring; What had been the phlegmy, rattling breaths of its standard existence deepened and grew more expressive, earned a more pleased vibrato to them, and, still gloved, you scratched up where its ears might once have been, now reduced to crusty, waxy holes.

When you pulled your hand away, it stood on its hind legs, the hips squelching in a rather off-putting manner as it did so. And… It straightened in a distinctly humanoid stance. Between that and the skin, you wondered if this was some sort of Xeno child, or a Warp-touched… Something. You couldn't wrap your head around it— Something about it danced at the edge of recollection, the barest hint of the uncanny, and as it seemed to smile through a faceful of pus-streaming sores, you wondered what you'd gotten yourself into.

xxx~~~xxx

You'd named it Boops. Whatever Boops was, no amount of washing, soap, mite treatments, or antibacterial soaps seemed to help. You'd tried to give it some of your dog's old oral antibiotics, but it'd had such a violent reaction and wailed so piteously that you had no choice but to avoid it. Boops was, despite the… Frankly disgusting nature of itself, in remarkably good shape. They'd run about and smear their mess on things with a radiant joy that was quite charming, and honestly, you'd gotten used to the smell after some days and just confined them to a guest room to reduce the cleaning needed.

And so much cleaning! It seemed Boops was a veritable font of pus, seeping lymph, phlegm, bile, and clotting blood. Whatever they had was… Well, you hoped not contagious. If you were this way, you'd surely be rushed to the hospital. And after these days of no improvement, that's where you'd decided to take Boops: The veterinarian.

As you scooted them into a carrier, they started tugging with excitement at your sleeve, and pointing behind you— Those digits were surprisingly flexible, to point. Almost raccoonlike— Could this be a raccoon?— But you looked where Boops pointed, and gasped.

Shambling from the forest where Boops themselves had arrived was a whole horde of other Boops-es, laughing and rushing towards town. Following them were flies large as a goat, which swept in towards you. Boops howled something in its tongue, and the flies diverted away— And the howl brought other attention.

Men, or things like men, in armour at once chitinous, keratinous, and ceramite-like, trudged in steady line through the trees. Their weapons were huge; Their stench was nearly unbearable. Boops yowl-chittered something, and this time, it was more like words. One of the massive men turned your way, marched to you. You grabbed Boops out of the carrier in your bare arms and ran, ran to town.

The thudding of hulking steps behind you grew near far quicker than you could run, and before you knew it, there was a hand on your shirt. You twisted and fought, tearing your shirt down the back on the rusted, diseased metal of the armour the man-thing wore, but then it grabbed your arm in a grip strong enough you felt your bones creak.

You howled. It hurt. The machine-man tugged. You tugged back, still carrying Boops like a football, like a baby, tucked to your chest.

Boops scampered up the man's arm and perched gaily upon his shoulder, and hopped up and down in place, chittering. The man loosened his grip a little, and the small beast rubbed its face on the helmet before it, just how it had rubbed its face upon your hand some days ago.

And the man lifted you, and carried you away.

xxx~~~xxx

He walked for some time, and you had stopped fighting. Wherever it was that he and Boops had come from, you were growing afraid of both for it; Back this way, the plants had withered and blackened, fungations sapping the life from old, once-mighty trees, molds drizzling down from the bushes in mockeries of berries. The animals that you could identify were, at times, writhing in feverish spasms, and at other times wandering with zombielike aimlessness, wandering out, away, from the direction you headed, the infective epicentre.

There, a roiling morass of tentacles and entrails in a robe spoke with the armoured man who had carted you all this way, spoke the same tongue as Boops seemed to, and you wept as you were handed off to this one, instead.

xxx~~~xxx

Little bumps had formed across your body, warm but neither tender nor painful; You could have mistaken them for shaving-bumps, but for the fact you'd not shaved.

When you exited the swirling greenish portal the man made of undulating disconnected meat had opened on your apparent behalf, these odd bumps had become raised, reddened ulcers, and had begun to grow sore. You coughed wetly, and a similar cough echoed behind you— Boops' cough. The little beastie had come with you, and now reached up on tip-toes to hold your hand, pull you deeper into this horrible world.

The ground was spongy like half-putrefied flesh, covered in massive tubes of slime-molds that looked disconcertingly like blood-vessels, throbbing and pumping and shuddering. The air was humid, thick, stagnant and filled with so much stench it made you vomit, and then vomit again, and keep retching until your belly ached and you could barely breathe. Boops held back your hair, and then, once you'd shakily returned to your feet, rolled in the mess before standing up and running off.

A copse of perfect trees stood tall, vibrantly green and absolutely untouched by the decay all around; You saw them through the haze of spores and stench, and ran to them like a lifeline.

When you burst through, you wished, immediately, you hadn't.

A corpulent mound of pure, slime-slick decay, of bulbous poxy sores, of open, writhing guts, of wounds infected and purulent, of wriggling and teeming parasites, reclined lazily upon a throne of bones cemented with adipocere and fungus. He turned his head, jowls wobbling with a bloated sort of fullness, and grinned wide, revealing row after row of sharp, carnivorous teeth.

"My dear!" He cried, and stretched out his arms, moribund body creaking, skin peeling, sores weeping at the motion. "Oh, my dear, by baby here has been telling me SO much of you! I must say, I really love the fact you tried to give him baths. That's HILARIOUS."

He gestured his arms down to Boops, who ran up and nestled into the yeasty folds of his creator's belly, smearing vomit on the flesh that seemed to disintegrate into black sludge at the slightest touch.

"You even named him. Boops! That's such a cute name! Honestly, like your own little rotten child," He laughed, and picked up the little creature, placing the small thing upon his prodigious belly. It chewed into a pustule and made a nest of it, looking down at you with unabashed delight.

You took a step back, mouth agape, not even sure what to make of the scene before you.

"Now, don't be shy!" The mound of putrescence before you laughed, and in a dizzying moment of vertigo, you were at his feet. You knelt forward as your stomach siezed, and demanded you vomit the nothing in it, or, barring that, vomit up the organ itself.

"Oh look, they even know to kneel!" He laughed, and leaned forward, creeks of black rot and bile pouring down, squeezed from his flesh. He touched, and the sores on your body blossomed into agony and consumption, vibrant red and weeping blood. You screamed, the pain and fear finally coming to vocalization, and this caused the impossible being of decay before you to frown. Boops chittered.

"Oh, they haven't? My, my! Such a strong will, indeed. This far without even accepting my blessing? Just a little kindness, hmm? Oh, we can't lose that, no no!" He grabbed you up in his hands, and more sores began to grow, fungi spreading from opened skin, burrowing and wriggling into nerves and muscles in a torrent of agony.

Something in you whispered to let Papa take care of you, and he'd take all that pain away. You, dazed and beyond overwhelmed, accepted.

The pain lifted. Subsided. Washed away into waves of… Well, not pleasure, but contentment, for now. It was far, far better than the agonies that had preceeded it just moments before.

"Isn't that better?" The great monstrosity above you cooed, and rested you on his belly, near to Boops. He looked down at you, and hummed, and waved fingers as if plucking invisible threads from you; Fungi unburrowed, sores shrunk, and others festered and blackened. The crusty eschars on you looked, to your addled, but… Still fairly happy, mind, like a leopard's spots, and you touched the black lesions with reverence. They sent tingles of pleasure up your spine, like a particularly good back-rub.

You remembered, then, the thing had asked a question, and looked up, opening dry, cracking lips to answer in the affirmative; How long had it been since you'd drunk anything?

Gazing upon his face, his gums puffy and red, teeth snaggled and yellowed, horns branching like tangled tree-limbs from his mighty head, you found an odd affection for the thing that had, clearly, done something to you. You ran a finger across the dried crisp of some peeling skin, and smiled a thin crescent.

"Ohhh, flatterer. You know, it's been a long, long time since there's been a human so dead set on healing a Nurgling! You're really a rare breed," You heard him say, and felt him laugh, fetid breaths causing his belly to bounce with you on top of it. It was not unlike the wavered undulations of a bouncy-castle, and you found yourself smiling wider, lips cracking until they bled, at the memory. You licked them, tasted your own blood upon them.

"Nurgling?" You echoed, and found yourself tilting your head up his way. He quirked an eyebrow and then laughed again.

"A barbaric world, then! Undiscovered little thing. Yes, Nurgling, one of my many children, pretty one." He caressed your cheek with a mighty, clawed hand, leaving a greasy smear in its wake, just like the grease that was seeping into your clothes from below. "And that makes me, to you, Nurgle. Papa, or Grandfather, sometimes. You really don't know me, hm? Ah, that's alright. Better, maybe."

You tried his name, and felt his bloated body shiver with delight. You smiled, and felt his hand sink into your clothes, which spooled apart into dusty decay and left you naked as the day you came into the world atop his belly. It was a bit embarassing, to be stared at by someone you'd only just met, so quickly you squeezed your legs shut and covered your chest as well as you could— Only for two fingers to grab your hand, try to reveal your modesty gently.

"Don't be that way," the horned beast cooed, and heat, feverish and yet wonderful, rose in your face, bloomed over ears and chest in a deep blush. "Don't be that way, little dear. You did so like Boops, wouldn't you like to have some Boops-es of your own?"

The thought gave you brief pause, but when he put it that way, you found, though you might not have before, that was rather appealing. You were certain that even just minutes ago, the thought of it would have been horrifying beyond imagining, but now? Now the longer you thought about it, the more you found you wanted it— The more you found yourself wanting it. Slick of your own joined the grease on his belly, and that toothy maw grinned to feel it.

"There's a good pretty one," he purred, and grunted as he heaved something up, something else out of the way, and a different stench filled the air.

You found yourself sliding down his belly, eased by the copious and unidentifiable fluids seeping from his flesh, until you came to a rest on a thigh, and found protruding from beneath his fat, bloated folds a cock as long as a pine tree, and with girth to match, bulbous and scarred, seeping unholy colours and dripping with chunks of waxy-yellow. You stared up at him and asked him how, exactly, this was intended to fit in you, if you were supposed to give him more Nurglings; He laughed, and shook his whole body with the heaving, thunderous jiggles of the laughter, and told you not to worry.

So you didn't; You reached where you could, and pulled the remarkably-sinuous organ towards yourself, feeling it ripple and move in a way no human's could. If anything, it seemed prehensile, and as you wrapped your arms around it to set on the task of providing what pleasure you could to your lord, it wound back around you and writhed, as if it was trying to frot you, and not the other way round.

Deep rumbles of enjoyment slid from the Chaos god's phlegmy throat, and, bolstered by that, you set to using not just your arms and chest, but thighs and feet and mouth as well, clambering upon the organ in its entirety and squeezing and wriggling with as much sensuality as you could manage.

This was taken quite well, and the cock wound back around you, pressing a tip wide as a soda-can to your lips; Dutifully, you opened, and licked and suckled and kissed upon the rotten-smelling tip, providing a scant cleanliness to the waxy-smeared, puffy urethra-lips and digging out only-Papa-knew-what from the hole. Your hands squeezed and danced across the cockskin, tracing hearts and rubbing the slipping skin wholesale, while you pressed your belly and ground your holes against a bump so nicely formed for you from the twisting, tentacle-like organ.

Perhaps pseudopod would be more accurate; Even as you writhed upon the larger source-shaft, you felt little pappilae, little cillia, of smaller cocks bud out and protrude. Most of them stayed small, rubbing across you in delightful dances, caressing each lesion like so many tongues, lapping at nipples, tangling up in your fingers; But some decided to grow larger, and grow into you.

You found your cunt pushed against by a similar tentacle, followed shortly by your ass; The waxy slime across the whole of his cock was plenty lubrication, and he slid in easily, starting small, growing larger. A cadre of little tentacle-dicks assaulted your clit, teased your trimmed vulva, tickled and danced across your perineum, eventually ensconcing you like underwear in a horde of trembling pleasures. The cocklets in your pussy and asshole began to grow, both rougher and larger, and worked on properly thrusting into you.

You gasped and moaned, and humped into the mass of cockflesh that had wrapped you up as surely as you held it; soon you had no room to move, caught like an insect to a sundew, and simply thrust your hips back against the tentacles that ploughed into you. Your cries raised into the muggy, musky heavens, and Nurgle groaned a little, shifting to rest you back into his hand, gently rock push back-and-forth with the pleasure your own writhing body gave him.

It didn't take too long before his many, many cockheads went from weeping a greenish-clear to a whitish-green, and he growled a possessive little rumble down your way. "Mnh!— Have another— Blessing—!" He grunted, and the slow seep of off-coloured cum became a surge. The thousands of tiny pseudopodal cocklets seeped semen out like a massive stamen, while the can-thick tentacles ravaging your cunt and asshole paused, shifted in as deep as they could go, and spewed forth an unholy torrent of thick, rotten cum into your helpless body. You felt your belly bloat up, and your eyes rolled back as you came, harder than you ever had in your prior life.

He pulled back, and the many little dicks receeded into his own primary organ; the ones nestled in your holes were the last to go, slipping away with sloppy pops that left you shuddering with aftershocks of your own orgasm. You clung to his cock, sliding slowly down, before you plopped into his bloated palm and were deposited rather gently onto the soft grassy ground by his throne.