Kit Williams

Perturabo

When Perturabo tells you to come to him it’s almost like an order. Somehow he had managed to track you down from the open sea to the shores and you’re likable enough for him to consider you as a partner. He would not risk fucking you in the open since your weak body would probably swallow too much water. You doubt his ability to thrust into you at first but he pins you down in the sand, tearing at your clothes, his massive cock rests on your stomach, making your jaw drop. By the smirk on his face, he will make you swallow your words.

Rogal Dorn

Sex on ice is tricky and outright impossible in the cold water but life finds a way and when summer comes Dorn has already worked out the logistics of mating with you. The pebbles of the stony beach dig into his back, the cool winds whip around you but it only adds to the sensation of you riding him, meeting his small thrusts halfway and allowing him to nibble on you. You notice the way he enjoys the sting and bite him, making him come within seconds, leaving you both panting with exertion. Oh it’s gonna be a long summer.

Konrad Curze

It all starts when you dare to lean over your boat and put a kiss on Konrads lips. For a moment he’s stunned and you’re ready to apologize before he leaps out of the water, pulling you into the water by the nape of your neck. For a moment you panic being in dangerous waters but all the fish had scattered away, leaving only him swinging to you. Your lips meet again, he draws blood and you have to readjust his hands on your body before breaks something. And slowly the terror of the night adjusts, grows softer while you peel away all his layers.

Sanguinius

Sanguinius is like a sweet fruit that lays in the in the shadow of a tree, relaxing, ready to be plucked and you can’t help but join him. You lazily make out as the minutes pass between you before he takes it a step further, pulling you under him, his teeth grazing your neck. You know he would never hurt you on purpose but the underlying danger in his claws, teeth and coiled muscles add to the allure of him and as soon as he tastes blood he falls into a frenzy, thrusting into you like a madman while his eyes become hazy. His love tastes like copper.

Roboute Guilliman

It’s been a while since you saw Roboute so lively, almost restless. It’s mesmerizing to watch his blue tail shine in the water as he swims around your boat. He impresses you, brings you a present and seals the deal with a hesitant kiss. While he’s unfamiliar with your body, he learns quickly, sucking on your nipples, pulling in his claws while he fingers you and finds the sweetest spot that makes you tense in his arms. A part of him knows that you two might be too different but he’s willing to try and learn how to love you.

Corvus Corax

It was normal that he gave you small trinkets when you were out on sea at night. Some of them were like amulets that were there to protect you, sometimes it was jewelry. This time it was a clam that he placed in your hands, waiting for either acceptance or rejection. Corvus will gladly be your oyster knife, pulling you at dusk into the water and keeping you till dawn. He fucks you softly by his standards, not biting you too hard and licks all the wounds before bringing you back to your boat, staying even when the sun blinds him.

Vulkan

The evenings suddenly grow longer the more he spends time with you and even if it’s wrong he can’t help but fall hard for you. Gives you a lot of kisses and the warmth of his body is a great contrast to the cool water. Vulkan is large and lets you take the lead, sitting on his tail and touching him however you want . The last thing he wants is to accidentally hurt you in such an intimate moment. He caresses you with his large hands, feeds you small pieces of fruit and encourages you with words to take him deeper till you both are in bliss.

Ferrus Manus

It’s only right for him to choose a strong partner for mating and when he comes up from the depths of the sea and who is better suited for him than the person who keeps surviving through hardships? It’s a straight forward proposition to mate with him and Ferrus has demonstrated already that he’s perfect partner for you. He supports you with his hands, helping you ride his massive cock and letting him fill you out completely while you throw your head back in ecstasy. It’s utterly perfect and Ferrus knows he had chosen right.

Leman Russ

Teases you the whole winter with only kisses and fleeting touches. If Leman could he would’ve already pulled you into the water for hours but sadly that would cut the fun short. Again when summer comes he already knows all the warm spots he can take you to and give you a good pounding. It’s in his instinct to mate and clearly he found the perfect partner in you. Days are spend simple, hunting together and you taking his cock till the season gets colder again and he returns you back to your home, satisfied and content.

Jaghatai Khan

It’s the kind of love that doesn’t have any roots. Jaghatai migrates with his sons a lot but every time he comes back he makes sure to visit you, not only to bring you gifts from around the world but also to spend time buried between your legs. Those moths are fleeting but passionate, meeting nearly every day at the beach, having him fuck you on all fours in the water or straddling him while his hands help you take his cock faster and faster till your hole clenches around him, till the sea calls for him again and he can’t resist it anymore.

Magnus

The forbidden fruit of knowledge is way too sweet to resist and Magnus is all yours. He observed the animals on land for decades and now he wants to feel it for himself what it’s like to be loved by someone other than a sea creature. He courts you for a long time and when you say yes to mate with him, he’s beaming with excitement. Suck him, ride him, tie him down against a shipwreck, he will endure whatever you give him even if he risks drying out on land. Slowly he starts to understand why people enjoy sex so much.

Mortarion

For many species the island that Mortarion inhabits is the perfect spot to find a mate and create new life. It bustles with life and even he isn’t indifferent to it since he had met you. It’s unexpected that you fall for him too, going into the water with him and letting him indulge in your delicious body, laying you down in the shallow end and pounding you into the sand. After being in toxic and radioactive waters for too long it’s a stretch to say that he will be able sire anything a fish can dream, right? After all there is still a chance it’s possible.

Angron

It takes a different kind of courage, bordering on foolishness to get into the water with such a beast. But the attraction is strong enough for you to risk it all, getting into the water and inviting him to take a bite. It’s a thrill seeing Angron’s red fin flash in the water before he grabs you, his claws sinking into your thighs and nearly drawing blood while he fucks into you from behind. It’s brutal, it’s bloody and you hold onto that fateful buoy for dear life but when he licks along your wounds you know you don’t want it any other way.

Horus Lupercal

The moment he saw you, Horus knew you would be his. But the way his rivals had been looking at you rubbed him the wrong way, making his claws itch. No wonder he fucks you like he’s possessed, leaving bite marks and bruises that would be visible for days and for everyone. He makes you moan, swearing that you would only be his till the end. It’s almost like a marriage vow. Resting his head on your chest while his cock is still half hard in you he feels at peace, knowing that no other merman would dare to touch what is his.

Lorgar Aurelian

How can you say no when he had already decorated a spot on the rocks of his shrine with shells, crystals and pretty stones, rolling out a rug that you had given him just to make it comfortable? Your joining isn’t just sex to him, it’s a collision of two worlds, when he has you on your back and worships you with his tongue between your legs and that’s just the beginning. Mating with him goes on for hours through different stages and rituals. That being said as soon as you joined there will be no one else for Lorgar but you for life.

Alpharius/Omegon

They take you at the same time, luring you into the water for a good time and oh boy it is when you feel two cocks stretching out your hole, taking turns thrusting into you like there is no tomorrow. Teeth graze your shoulders and neck, restless hands explore your body and hold you in place, making sure that nothing slips out of you as they come with a grunt. Of course the little threesome doesn’t need to end with the mating season, you can come to them any time. Maybe you will be up for a second round too.

Bonus!!!

Emperor of (Fish-) Mankind

Rejoice! You have been chosen by someone who is worshipped as a god on land. You should be proud as you are taken into the waters by gentle hands, that take off your ceremonial clothes. He comes alone to you without his golden warriors, taking you to safer shallows where you wouldn’t be interrupted, laying his body on the sand and making you ride his cock till you see stars. He already has twenty sons but with the way he pushes his release into you he might get one more or several quite soon.

Malcador

You exhale once through your teeth.

Tighten your grip on the long knife.

One clean pulse.

One body at a time.

You spot him halfway through a turn—a tech-ritualist, high rank by the gilding on his mask, blood-slick robes tangled around his feet. His weapon is ceremonial. He doesn’t raise it fast enough.

You silence him before he even registers your face.

The knife slides through his ribs, up, twists.

You press your palm to his mouth while he dies.

It’s not kindness. Just quiet.

---

You don’t linger.

But as you move—

Something moves with you.

Not footsteps.

Not sound.

Just... weight.

Not on the floor.

Not in your hand.

On you.

Like a shadow pressing against the inside of your spine. Not a presence, but a pressure.

A sense that you are no longer the only thing hunting.

You pause in the dark.

And the dark doesn’t feel empty.

---

You’ve felt pursuit before.

You’ve been stalked. Watched. Almost killed.

This isn’t that.

This isn’t a sniper’s crosshairs or a cornered beast.

This is larger. Older. More certain.

Whatever it is, it’s not trying to get closer.

It doesn’t need to.

It’s just there—behind you, or above you, or in you—moving only when you do. But when you stop… it waits.

Like a god watching a single, specific prayer.

Like a predator indulging the long game.

---

You turn your head slowly, eyes scanning the ruins—clean, practiced.

Nothing.

Just steel and soot.

But the skin along your arms feels too tight.

Your pulse isn’t faster. Just... louder.

You crouch.

Kneel by another corpse.

Pretend to search the pockets.

But your fingers tighten around your short blade instead, and you keep your head tilted just enough to catch movement in your periphery.

Nothing comes.

No breath.

No shift in dust.

And yet—

You know.

You’re being followed.

---

Not in the way soldiers follow orders.

Not in the way cowards follow victors.

This is curious.

But not admiring.

Not respectful.

Something is behind your back that doesn’t need to see you to know exactly who you are.

It’s not afraid of you.

But it’s not hunting you either.

It’s waiting.

As if it already knows you’re going to do something... worth claiming.

And for the first time in years—

you don’t know whether you should turn to face it…

…or start performing.

Just in case it’s watching.

---

There’s a stretch of corridor in the lower hive that no one uses anymore.

Too collapsed for heavy transport, too exposed for foot patrols. Smells like machine oil and rot. Perfect.

You found it during recon.

Narrow.

Half-lit.

One entrance.

One vent.

Just enough space to hide a body. Or bait one.

Tonight, that body’s yours.

---

You set it carefully.

Not a trap for a beast.

A trap for something smarter.

You don’t leave pressure sensors.

No explosives.

No alarms.

You leave a gesture.

Your gear laid out wrong—like you were careless. A blade set down in the open, edge turned away. A ration half-eaten. Blood smeared along your collar—not yours.

It says: I’m hurt. I’m tired. I’m unaware.

It’s a lie.

You lie very well.

Then you lower yourself to the floor.

Stretch out.

Face toward the vent, back to the door.

Not sleeping. Just... waiting.

You don’t even blink.

---

The corridor is quiet.

Hour one passes.

Nothing.

Hour two, the wind shifts—ventilation kicking up the smell of scorched carbon and metal.

Not smoke.

Not fire.

Armor.

You don’t move.

But your fingers twitch.

Not fear.

Excitement.

You keep your breathing steady.

You let your shoulders fall.

You look weak.

---

The air thickens.

You don’t hear footsteps. But you feel them—distant pressure through the floor. Like something heavy walking with no rush at all.

It doesn’t pause at the entrance.

It doesn’t scout the edges.

It knows you’re there.

And it’s not afraid.

It stops just beyond your field of view.

Not in front of you.

Behind you.

Close enough that if you breathed too hard, you’d feel the difference in temperature across your back.

You smell salt.

And oil.

And something that shouldn’t have a scent at all—void metal and cold pressure.

Like something that shouldn’t fit in this space but came anyway.

You keep your eyes shut.

But your heart is beating hard now.

Not because you're afraid.

Because for the first time, you realize:

You weren’t being paranoid.

You’re being claimed.

---

Then—

Nothing.

No breath.

No touch.

No sound.

Just—

A low exhale, not from lungs.

From something deeper.

Felt in your spine.

And then… it's gone.

No footsteps retreating.

No wind.

Just absence.

You sit up slowly.

Your blade is untouched.

But the air smells like him.

And the vent grill?

It’s bent—just slightly.

Pressed inward.

As if something much too large decided to get just a little closer than the steel was ready for.

---

You exhale. Once.

Then smile.

“Real,” you whisper.

And your voice sounds wrong in your mouth.

Because it’s the first time you’ve used it in days.

And maybe…

the first time someone was listening.

---His POV---

The corridor stinks of rust and oil.

And something else.

Her.

Not sweat. Not pheromones.

Discipline.

Blood not wasted.

Movement held so tightly it hums through the walls.

He watches from the broken vent shaft. Doesn't crouch. Doesn’t hide.

He simply stands—shoulders hunched into the crawlspace, helm under one arm, eyes burning low behind the slats.

She lies still.

She’s trying to bait him.

It makes no difference.

He doesn’t hunt prey.

He observes pattern.

He waits for failure.

He listens for breakage.

But she’s… different.

She’s baiting him not out of weakness.

Out of curiosity.

She wants to know what’s watching her.

Not stop it.

She’s laid herself out like a sacrifice.

A weapon without sheath.

Throat exposed, legs loose, blade close—but not in hand.

He watches the curve of her back rise in a false breath.

Sees the shiver pass down her flank as she stills her nerves.

Smells her discipline like static off a bloodied altar.

She is not afraid.

And that is why he hasn’t left.

---

He has seen other killers.

Thousands.

Most scream. Most spit.

Some pray.

She doesn't.

She performs.

And never once looks at the audience.

Even now, lying “vulnerable,” she is not inviting.

She is taunting.

And Tyberos feels his jaw tighten.

He knows the look of meat waiting to be devoured.

This is not it.

This is a blade offering itself to be dulled—or blooded.

And he... doesn't yet know which he wants more.

---

He steps forward in the vent, just enough for the metal to groan beneath his weight.

She doesn’t flinch.

But he sees the rhythm of her breath shift.

Slight. Measured. Deliberate.

She knows.

Good.

---

He does not need her to fear him.

He does not need her to break.

But he wants—

no—

He intends

to see what she sounds like

when she finally speaks his name.

---

And if she never does?

Then he’ll carve it out of her throat.

Not as punishment.

But as pattern made flesh.

Because the silence she wields so perfectly?

He wants to be the one to shatter it.

And rebuild it around his name.

---

The shaft is too narrow for a man his size.

But he isn't just a man.

And she isn't prey.

So he stays.

Cramped. Crouched. Knees twisted against ancient steel.

Unmoving.

Watching.

She lies in the trap she’s made—

not for him.

Not really.

For herself.

To prove she’s being watched.

To prove that something has noticed her.

He has.

He did three nights ago.

---

She’d killed a corrupted psyker with a single stab—through the lower back, into the gut, out through the mouth.

No hesitation.

No posturing.

No glory.

Then she walked away before the corpse finished falling.

She kills like silence.

Not like rage.

Not like vengeance.

Like gravity.

Unstoppable not because it’s violent—but because it simply doesn’t stop.

That was when he began following.

Not to feed.

Not to fight.

To see if she’d notice.

And when she did—

He stayed.

---

He watches her now, muscles blood-heavy with stillness, helm cradled beneath one arm.

She breathes in controlled increments.

She’s pretending to sleep.

Why?

Because she knows he’s here.

And instead of fleeing—she dares him to move closer.

He doesn’t.

Yet.

---

Tyberos has killed thousands.

On land.

In vacuum.

In his dreams.

He remembers the ones who broke too fast.

The ones who screamed before the blade.

The ones who lied.

The ones who begged.

He forgets their names.

But he remembers their smell.

Their heartbeat.

The precise moment the eyes changed from fight to flight.

She hasn’t done that.

Not even once.

And that’s why he hasn’t taken her.

---

He wonders—

Does she know what she’s doing?

This isn’t mating.

This isn’t courtship.

She doesn’t dress to entice.

She doesn’t bleed where he can see it.

And still, she peels off her armor like it’s a ritual, not a routine.

She walks slower when she’s alone.

She moves her shoulders when she stretches.

She cleans her blades too carefully, like someone is being taught.

He is.

She knows.

---

She thinks she’s watching him now.

She’s not.

She’s feeding him.

Each movement another cut of flesh offered.

Another coil of blood scent left behind.

He’s not stalking her.

He’s circling.

Waiting for the moment she breaks her own rules.

When she drops her weapon.

When she turns her back.

When she speaks.

He will be there.

And not before.

---

Because he doesn’t want to kill her.

Not yet.

He wants to find out what her silence sounds like when it bleeds.

He wants to know if she whispers like a blade sliding from a sheath—

or like a throat opening for its last breath.

And if she says his name—

He’ll never leave again.

---

:: Memory tick: Contact -214.08 hrs ::

---

Smoke-dense ruin.

Blade flash.

She slid from a shattered column like wind given form.

Throat-strike. Liver. Drop.

No scream. No kill cry. No glance to witnesses.

She cleaned her blade against her own skin.

Ritualized.

No waste.

No glory.

She was not observed.

Except by him.

---

:: Memory tick: Contact -157.37 hrs ::

---

Night.

Barracks silent.

She sat with legs folded, sharpening tools.

Not knives.

Claws.

Ceramite too thin to be standard.

Refitted. Carved for hand tension.

Purpose: bypass armor seals.

Technique: illegal.

She oiled them slowly.

Bare-chested. Unhurried. Covered in dried kill.

Not cleansing.

Marking.

She didn’t know he was watching then.

Heart rate: steady.

No reaction.

No shame.

A killer preparing for sleep.

He crouched in the crawlspace above her for forty-seven minutes.

Did not blink.

---

:: Memory tick: Contact -89.13 hrs ::

---

She fought a brute in the arena trench.

Mutation. Heavy. Void-touched.

It roared.

She did not.

It bit her.

She let it.

Used the moment it closed on her arm to disembowel it.

Did not scream.

Did not cry.

Afterward, she didn’t check the wound.

She whispered a rite under her breath.

“Third blood offered. No yield given.”

He’d heard it.

He hadn’t meant to.

He listened again.

---

Pattern compiled:

Silence. Ritual. Efficiency. No audience. No chaos. No bluff.

Breakpoint: unknown.

Interest: escalating.

---

Now.

Her fake breath curls from her lips like heat off a blade.

She lies still.

Loose. Bait.

No tension in limbs. None visible.

But he smells it.

The sweat between her shoulders.

The tremor in her thigh when she thinks he’s moved.

She wants proof.

Not reassurance.

Not safety.

Truth.

So he shifts.

One boot, one degree.

Letting the floor groan.

Letting her imagine mass. Volume. Size.

She doesn’t rise.

But her heartbeat climbs half a step.

Not panic.

Not fear.

Acknowledgment.

---

And that is when he knows:

She is not waiting to strike.

She is not testing his hunger.

She is wondering how long she can hold out.

And if he’s patient enough—

He will find out what sound her silence makes when it ends.

Not under pain.

Not under threat.

Under pressure.

His pressure.

-------tysm for reading i love carcharodons------

Kinda wanna do a nsfw continuation of this.... what's new...

Tagged: @incrediblethirst @druidwolf21 @thisuserislilsilly @iluminatka16 @nebulaegem @kit-williams @bispecsual @beckyninja @bookandyarndragon @jackalwolfsoul