Male!Mershark🦈 x Gender neutral reader
Warnings: Cursing and some intimate moments (you get thrown over his shoulder later on😅 No NSFW yet sorry🙂↕️ I gotta tease y’all a bit)
Summary: "The situation where I wake up in a strange cave, only to find myself dressed in these humiliating scraps of silk while being held captive in a trophy room of a man or creature who apparently believes I am his property!" you spat out, the words laced with fury and fear. "The situation where I try to escape and find the door sealed, cornered by a six-and-a-half-foot-tall creature who smells the air for me like I'm a wounded animal!"
This definitely won’t be the last part but I got lazy but I think it’s still good enjoy!😁
•Context •Part!1 •Part!2 •Part!3 •Part 4
You remained rigidly pinned behind the vase, a cold, smooth curve of ceramic your only shield. The chaos of the search surged and ebbed around you, the merfolk's urgent movements keeping the vast living room in constant turmoil. The vase was perfectly tucked into a deep corner near the entrance, letting you observe the frantic hunt without being seen.
They hadn't found you, but your hiding spot had a time limit. A sharp, prickling agony was climbing your calves; your legs were quickly falling asleep from the strained crouch. You knew this refuge was temporary. One sudden, involuntary cramp would give you away.
You desperately scanned the colossal room for a next move, weighing the known risk of the cave exit against the unknown maze of the staircases and side hallways. You had to move now, before your own body betrayed you.
You waited, bearing the agonizing needles in your legs, until the search finally subsided into an unnerving quiet. "I'll take any chance I get," you muttered, pulling yourself carefully onto your feet. The revealing robes rustled softly as you surveyed the room. It was clear.
Ignoring the protest of your limbs, you dashed toward the exit point.
But relief shattered into sheer horror.
The archway to the cave was gone. In its place stood a colossal, seamless door of dark wood, sealed tight. They hadn't just left; they had locked you in.
"F-ck," you choked out. The warmth of the provocative robes now felt like a taunt. Exposed and utterly trapped in the center of the silent, opulent lair, your eyes frantically sought any alternative escape.
Just when you thought your situation couldn't get any worse—exposed in the middle of a massive room—it did.
Your ears strained, catching the unmistakable sound of heavy footsteps descending the grand staircase, accompanied by low, muttered voices. You didn't hesitate. You dashed back toward the only sanctuary you knew, collapsing into a silent crouch behind the cold, hard curve of the ornamental vase.
As the voices drew closer, you recognized one instantly: the powerful, manly, deep voice that had commanded the staff earlier. He had to be the "Sir."
They stopped at the bottom of the stairs, their conversation drifting clearly across the silent expanse of the living room.
"We’ve searched everywhere in the home, up and down," a subordinate's voice reported, thick with exhaustion. "This is the only place that wasn't thoroughly swept, sir, because we expected the workers would’ve noticed if your mate came in here. And there was no sign of escape in the trophy room where they were held."
trophy room? What kind of colossal ego did this creature have? And held?
Your thoughts were instantly cut off by the booming, authoritative voice of the "Sir"—the man who was apparently your "mate." His tone was chillingly calm.
"Don’t worry. You two can be dismissed. But close the door behind you. That is the only exit open in this room."
The sound of footsteps retreating and hearing the door being secured sent a tidal wave of icy terror through you. Shit…You realized two things simultaneously: your hiding spot was the very place they expected you to flee to, and this person or creature was now alone, somewhere in this vast room, completely certain that you were still here.
The silence that followed the closing of the door was absolute, broken only by a soft, rhythmic sound that was impossible to mistake: slow, heavy footsteps beginning to pace the vast marble floor. He was walking leisurely, drawing out the moment.
Then, his deep, commanding voice—closer now, and devoid of the prior professional urgency—cut through the air, vibrating with an unnerving intimacy.
"I'd like to let you come out on your own," the person said, the words echoing slightly.
He continued his measured pacing, the sound of his approach and retreat driving your panic higher.
"I’ve enjoyed our little game of shark and minnow, but," he paused, the footsteps halting abruptly somewhere near the center of the room, "I'd like it to end now. Your face was absolutely gorgeous when you were asleep. I’d love to see it as you're now awake." His voice was a cold, possessive purr. He knew that you were here.
Yeah, fuck that, you thought internally, the fear suddenly sharpening into a defiant resolve. If he wanted you that badly, he’d have to come and find you, and you wouldn't go without a fight. You stayed perfectly still, maintaining your silent, cramped position behind the vase.
Your refusal was all the answer he needed.
A low, amused chuckle reached your ears, devoid of warmth. "Oh, so you're the type that likes to be found," he said, the sound of his heavy footsteps beginning to move again, this time not pacing, but circling.
He was covering the perimeter of the room slowly, deliberately, his voice radiating smug confidence. "Luckily for you, I'm the type who doesn't mind a good hunt."
The footsteps were measured, heavy, and now clearly moving toward your side of the colossal living room. He wasn't guessing; he was systematically closing in. You could practically feel the air shift as the predator moved closer to the corner. This was no longer a game of waiting; it was a matter of seconds.
The air was heavy, charged not with sound, but with the scent of danger. He was sniffing the air, a sickening, wet sound, hunting by pure instinct.
His slow, measured footsteps stopped, then began again, driving like a spike directly toward your flimsy sanctuary. The awareness of his gaze, even unseen, felt like a physical heat against the back of your neck, making the smooth, inadequate robes feel suddenly restrictive and transparent.
Terror made your muscles spasm. You tried to press yourself flatter into the corner, but the desperate adjustment was catastrophic. Your weight shifted, and the base of the heavy, cold vase screamed a scrape against the marble.
The noise hung in the immense space—a definitive, deafening announcement.
The “Sir's” movement froze instantly. The room became absolutely, lethally still. You knew he was looking right at you, savoring the final seconds before the confrontation. The hunt was over, and you were flushed from cover.
The room was held in a deadly, crushing stillness, broken only by your own shallow breathing.
He has me surrounded anyway, you thought, letting defiance override fear. What do I have to lose?
With deliberate, agonizing slowness, you rose, using the cold wall for leverage until you were finally standing upright.
You were instantly face-to-face with the owner of this entire terrifying domain. He was a colossal figure, easily six-and-a-half feet tall, a magnificent merperson. His body possessed a broad, sturdy structure, rippling with effortless power—the kind of brute strength that commands, and rarely asks. Three faint, silver-lined gill slits pulsed rhythmically on either side of his neck with every breath he took of the recycled air . Dark, long hair, sleek with moisture, framed his sharp, aquiline face. The predator lineage was clear in the slight backward slant of his deep blue eyes, yet his features held a terrifying, aristocratic beauty.
But the most unsettling feature was his mouth. He wore a sharp, yet strangely soft grin—a look of pure, predatory satisfaction that didn't quite reach his eyes. He was the epitome of the shark who had finally toyed his minnow into the open, and he was savoring the victory in his luxurious cage.
The moment stretched, fraught with tension as you stared up at the towering, formidable creature. His predatory blue eyes devoured your figure.
He was the first to break the charged atmosphere. His deep voice, the one that commanded his subordinates, was now lowered to a dangerous, intimate register.
"The robes fit you quite... nicely," he stated, the final word delivered with a soft, predatory emphasis that made the back of your neck prickle. It wasn't a genuine compliment; it was a territorial claim.
You immediately remembered the revealing nature of the garment and shifted uncomfortably, pulling the fabric closer. Despite the terror, you met his gaze with defiance. "I would take that compliment more nicely if I wasn't in the situation I'm in now."
The sharp, soft grin on his face widened just slightly, a clear sign that your boldness was only fueling his amusement. He didn't seem insulted by your rejection; he seemed impressed by your nerve.
His eyes glinted, showing no surprise, only a chilling curiosity. "What situation would that be?" he prompted, his voice smooth as glass, clearly waiting for you to state the obvious truth of your captivity.
Despite knowing he was mocking you, the need to voice the injustice was overwhelming. You took a shaky breath, the soft robes clinging uncomfortably as you stood exposed before the thing who claimed you.
"The situation where I wake up in a strange cave, only to find myself dressed in these humiliating scraps of silk while being held captive in a trophy room of a man or creature who apparently believes I am his property!" you spat out, the words laced with fury and fear. "The situation where I try to escape and find the door sealed, cornered by a six-and-a-half-foot-tall creature who smells the air for me like I'm a wounded animal!"
He listened patiently, his imposing height making you crane your neck, the sharp, soft grin never faltering. When you finished, he tilted his head, the long hair shifting across his broad, sturdy shoulder.
"Ah," he murmured, his gaze traveling slowly over the length of your body, lingering on the revealing nature of your attire. "You mean the situation where you finally realize you belong here?" His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "And that my patience, my little minnow, is at its absolute end."
He took a slow, deliberate step closer, closing the distance you had fought so hard to maintain.
You straightened your back, meeting his predatory gaze. "Belong here?" you scoffed, flicking your eyes down his immense form. "Please. I belong precisely where I choose to be, and that isn't standing here trading awful compliments with a giant fish stick who clearly doesn't know the difference between a captive and a companion."
You held his gaze, pushing your luck to the absolute limit. "And since we're apparently past the “game”, how about you treat me like a person for one second? Give me your name! I need to know what to call the owner of my cage."
Your rejection and demand for identity had cut through his arrogance. A dark flicker—no longer just amusement, but genuine interest—crossed his deep blue eyes. The soft edge of his smile hardened.
Your defiance has cut through his arrogance. He now stares at you, visibly reacting to your words.
The moment you finished your defiant speech, he gave you your answer, cutting off any further challenge.
"Vance," he stated, his voice flat, devoid of the playful condescension. He didn't wait for your reaction.
Instead of speaking again, he began to walk. One towering, deliberate step after another, closing the gap you had desperately tried to maintain.
Your fragile, newly gained confidence shattered. You began to backpedal, stumbling until your spine hit the solid wall. "Stay back! Get away from me! Damn you, you sick bastard!" you screamed, throwing curse words that were utterly useless against his massive form.
Vance ignored every word. He reached out with terrifying speed, his arm enveloping your waist, and hoisted you effortlessly off the ground. Before you could register the sudden loss of footing, you were swung over his broad, sturdy shoulder, face-down and exposed.
You immediately began to kick and flail, pounding your fists against his impossibly solid back, your protests turning into desperate, frantic cries.
He held you firmly down with one large hand planted just above your hips, securing you with terrifying ease. He turned, the heavy steps of a man carrying no weight echoing as he began to ascend the grand staircase.
As he reached the landing, he opened a magnificent double door and stepped into a brightly lit corridor. The moment he did, his demeanor shifted entirely, becoming the composed, formidable owner of the manor, while you, trussed over his shoulder, were relegated to a nuisance.
He passed a few figures—guards, perhaps, or high-ranking staff.
"Vance, sir," a voice greeted respectfully.
"Yes," Vance responded smoothly, his voice showing no exertion. "The shipment was handled correctly. Make sure the ledger is updated before midnight,"
"Understood, sir. Everything satisfactory?"
"Perfectly," Vance replied, his tone chillingly detached, as if the person wailing and kicking on his shoulder did not exist. He then muttered a final, dismissive instruction, his stride never breaking. "And send a cleaner to the main hall. My guest was less than tidy."
He continued his determined march down the hall, completely ignoring your furious, useless wailing and kicking, treating you like a piece of valuable, though temporarily loud, luggage.
