now,a hybrid mer mohawk mark and others variants? maybe? at some point? just an idea? 🥺👉🏽👈🏽
Hybrid!Mohawk Mark with Narwhal-Mer!Reader...
Being lost at sea, separated from your pod and lacking even the most basic survival skills, is as good as signing your own death sentence. Current after current sweeps you into waters you never planned to venture, and the farther you drift, the more your hope of returning to your pod seems to dwindle. Not to mention that a lone Narwhal is a sight not many see. So it attracts unwanted attention.
There’s a mer stalking you, he's twice as big as you. Following every shift of your tail while keeping just below and behind you. At first, you assume he’s hunting you—why else would he hover so close? You tried to bolt away, pouring your last remaining strength into a single desperate burst, but he kept pace with infuriating ease. And when your stamina finally gave out, he only slowed, drifting in wide, deliberate circles around your trembling, anxiety-ridden body. A huge grin plastered on his face.
A silent mer is a successful hunter, and yet your… company hasn’t shut up once.
Chirps, whistles, and trembling trills drift up from the water beneath you, sounds so unfamiliar you can’t decipher whether they’re warnings or songs.
You veer left; he mirrors you. You slow; he slows more. A long, warbling whistle rises from below—too soft for an orca, too deep for a beluga. He emits clicking patterns that mimic your calls and mess with your instincts. If you rest, he stops moving entirely, hovering like a guard.
He tends to vanish after your failed hunts, slipping away when your fear is at its peak and your morale is at its lowest, only to return moments later with the very prey you were chasing clenched between his sharp, webbed claws. Pushing the food towards your direction with too much enthusiasm.
Your acceptance of his offering ignites something inside him, and he doesn’t bother to hide it. He rolls onto his back, pectoral fins stretching open in a bold display, hands laced behind his head like he owns the entire sea, satisfaction blatant on his face. Cocky doesn’t even begin to cover it.
Not even an hour after he fed you, he’s already chipping away at your nerves, steadily working to narrow the distance between you and him despite all your careful attempts to keep it wide.
He drifts too close to your tail fin, and you feel the graze of his sharp fingers along your spotted skin—light enough not to pierce, but enough for you to throw him a glance, to which he gets the hint and slightly backs away.
Not for long though, never for long.
He moves nearer, hesitating for a moment before letting the length of his tail brush softly against yours, skin gliding across skin. It’s almost awkward, like he’s unsure how much pressure to use, unsure if you’ll pull away. But he tries anyway. His inverted orca patterns trace your spotted length with a warm, unhurried stroke. It’s not forceful. Not aggressive. Just… close. Too close. A gesture meant for someone who understands what it signifies—and you definitely don’t. Still, when his soft touch drifts along your tail again, followed by a deep orca rumble that melts into a high, soothing beluga whisper, you catch the unmistakable shape of his name echoing through the water.
Your lips struggle to repeat it, forming the faintest imitation of his name—barely a breath—right as he pulls back from you.
Mark. Call me Mark.
It takes you far too long to realize that he wasn't stalking you.
He has been trying to court you.
🐳🐬🐳
I haven't read the comics yet so I apologize I know this seems a bit out of character... Also, it is important to me that you're aware of Narluga's existence. Yes, they're beluga x narwhal hybrids which are all too adorable.
Inspired by the 🐐 from a different fandom @rawme-price
Thinking about marine biologist!Reader who has been closely observing a family of merfolk for a couple of years, studying how interspecies dynamics work among merfolk, and who becomes one of the first to notice and monitor the father orca’s unusual behavior from a safe distance.
It’s a known fact that father orcas don’t stick around to raise their pups, choosing instead to mate and quickly rejoin their own pod. So finding one who has stayed with his family is a remarkable discovery, one that could change how humans view mer-species as a whole.
However, interspecies mating involving orcas is virtually unheard of, making this individual—whom you’ve affectionately named Nolan—an anomaly on two separate fronts.
They were an odd pair to study. In the wild, every recorded meeting between a beluga and an orca ends the same way—violently. Not them though. Never has Nolan displayed aggressive behaviour against his mate, Deborah or his not-yet full-grown offspring, which you named Mark. Perhaps that's why you've stuck around them, watching and learning how they lived, which frankly was far better than some human families.
For an apex predator such as him, you often wondered how your boat was still standing.
Everything was going well,
Until something set him off. Maybe his son’s instincts which he was still getting the hang of, triggered something in the fully grown orca, or a hunting attempt to which he let Mark tag along had fallen through, making the father snap and bare his fangs more often than not, even his mate's calls weren't enough to calm him down. The longer you observed, the more his nature as a killer whale became visible.
One moment, he and his son were following a whale, and the next, his massive tail whipped through the water’s surface like a lash, sending a wave that rattled your observation kat. Your antennae picked up Mark’s squeaks of alarm—he had probably instinctively dove low—while the father circled above. You could only see Nolan's elongated dorsal fin cut through the water in tight, deliberate arcs, sometimes vanishing into the depths only to resurface with a shocking spray of blood trailing behind him. Was it the whale's? Mark's? You could only watch in horror as he tore through something beyond the water.
Even when the orca dove down for the final time, your boat stayed far, far from the scuffle, anchored by caution and the weight of unspoken rules. Yet your heart thumped with a persistent, gnawing unease—something was wrong, off. The discolored water wasn’t dissipating as it should; the dark streaks kept spreading, widening into a stain that refused to blend with the surrounding ocean.
Deciding you’d given enough time, you guided your small observation boat closer, antennae twitching as you triangulated Mark’s position. The closer you got, the more your stomach sank—the swirling water was dark with blood. There he was, barely conscious, lying in a cratered rock as if it had been formed by the force of his beating. His limbs hung weakly at his sides, his beluga-white tail streaked crimson. Even through the water, his face looked battered, worse than you could have imagined.
He couldn’t recover here. Injured beyond recognition, exhausted, and without food, he didn’t stand a chance—and you couldn’t stay frozen anymore, not with a mer struggling to breathe in the water. You couldn’t let him die. Not like this. Not someone so precious, so small, so alive with potential.
Fumbling in your pocket, you dialed the number you knew could get him help—your hands shaking as every second stretched too long.
Hybrid-mer!Mark was taken into the care of the Global Defence of Aquatics (GDA) soon after your call. The mer—twice the weight of a beluga and nearly twice the size—showed almost no sign of life as they hauled him up in the reinforced net, blood and seawater streaming off his upper body in thin, steady rivulets.
You couldn’t even tell where the injuries ended and the blubber beneath his thick skin began, the swarm of medical personnel clustered around the deck blocked your view.
He seemed completely lifeless, even as the crew struggled to lower his massive body into the deck tank—a tank meant for smaller merfolk species, and clearly not built for something Mark’s size. The reinforced glass bowed under his weight, far too tight a fit, but the mer didn’t react to the claustrophobic pressure at all. He lay there motionless, unconscious, his blood-soaked tail curled awkwardly against the walls. If it wasn't for tiny bubbles around his mouth slowly drifting to the surface, you would've thought he died.
They're going to transfer him into a facility that can accommodate his size, medicate and quarantine him until full recovery, and release him back into the wild.
That's the plan. The only plan you're aware of. The plan that Cecil told you while also being careful not to promise anything that might contradict his words some time in the future.
You don’t like it, actually, you can’t stand it. Every extra word you have to force out of Cecil about their choice of facility grates on your nerves. But arguing won’t change anything, and it still beats the alternative, which is Mark bleeding out in a tiny tank after taking the beating of a lifetime from his own sire.
In the end, the old man gives in, allowing you to tag along to the facility and document your account of the incident with a wrinkle between his eyebrows that never fades despite his mood.
"Attached" He called you, trying to make sense of your worry. And you couldn't help but agree with him, answering the comment with a shrug of your shoulders and a roll of your eyes, because the last thing you'll do is agree with Cecil. Vocally, at least.
The first couple of days in the sanctuary were tough on the injured mer, who slowly drifted from one corner of the bare tank to the other, almost like a manatee—he was either saving energy or was in too much pain to move any of his fins after the surgeries. Not to mention that the bandages wrapped around him from tail to head kept him tightly restricted.
So far from the energetic creature you'd known him to be.
@weponxwrites
Thankfully, his condition stabilized after two weeks, and he seemed lucid, reactive to humans, as well as the bareness of the tank.
You couldn’t stay with him for more than a day at a time—you still had to work. Debbie needed monitoring now more than ever, anxiously circling the same stretch of territory Nolan had once claimed. The worried mer kept calling for her son, for her mate, her voice echoing through the water only to be met with silence each time. She even came up to your research boat at one point, circling just beneath the surface as if trying to catch the scent of her pup. When her head broke the water and she saw only you standing there, her hopeful posture collapsed into something defeated. Without a sound, she slipped back into the depths.
Debbie wasn’t the only one struggling with the absence of the other, though.
Mark has been keeping his distance, hovering in the far corner like he expected the walls to close in on him. His tail flicked slowly and uneasily, never fully relaxed. Every human movement was met with caution. He too, kept making noise, whistles and moos that went unanswered.
But the moment he noticed you, standing just behind the medical staff, holding some papers, something shifted in his expression. His posture straightened, pupils widening with a faint spark of recognition. Hard to tell. His species mix made reading expressions almost impossible, yet you knew he wasn’t indifferent to you.
His family had always been aware of you, but once they realized you meant no harm, Nolan left your little boat alone, showing a bit of mercy—after hounding you relentlessly, circling the hull, and nearly giving you a heart attack the first dozen times. Before his aggressive episode, they even left gifts—penguin carcasses, half-eaten dolphins, which you hesitantly swam away from.
The adults kept to themselves. Mark, however, was overcome with curiosity and a streak of disobedience. You’d known for a long time that the little bumps against your boat weren’t drifting ice, or a stray wave, or even Nolan checking in to make sure you were still as harmless as the last time he’d inspected you.
They were him. The inquisitive pup who couldn’t resist poking at the strange creature floating on the surface.
Sometimes he’d nudge the hull so gently you barely felt it. Other times he’d ram it with enough enthusiasm to jolt you forward in your seat. And on the rare days when he was feeling bold, you’d catch a flash of white just under the waterline—his tail, his grin, his whole body tilting like he wanted you to chase him.
Even then, he’d risked his father’s wrath just to get a closer look at what you were.
Perhaps he’d heard you speak through the glass, recognized your voice—the same one that had called out from the strange platform—and connected the dots. It wouldn’t be strange; after all, he was a hybrid of two highly intelligent mer species.
"Think he knows?” Cecil’s voice was low as he stepped beside you, his gaze flicking to Mark’s sharp eyes.
“About what?” You asked, keeping your tone casual.
“About you,” He said, almost under his breath, “I mean… does he know who you are?”
You didn’t answer. Your eyes stayed locked on Mark, trying to read the hybrid, but his expression gave nothing away. The silence stretched, thick and uneasy, and the way Mark stared blankly in your direction only seemed to spike Cecil’s interest. His gaze flicked between you and the tank, curiosity written in every line of his face. The old man wanted to tell you something, and you found yourself praying he wouldn’t. Every flick of Mark's tail, the unblinking glance, felt like a recognition—and the last thing you wanted was whatever Cecil had to say.
You sighed, feeling pinned under the man’s sharp gaze, as if there were no other choice. The words left your mouth before you could stop them.
“What is it?”
Cecil’s eyes flicked to the tank for a fraction of a second, then back at you.
I love your mer invincible stuff sm!! I hope you write more! (´^ω^`)
Aw, thank you! I'm really glad so many ppl love it! This has been growing mold at the back of my fridge (drafts) for like 5 months I'm sorryyy
Part 3 of this post
"You do know there's a chance he'll suffocate me, right?"
"I have four men with dart guns trained on that beast. He’ll be unconscious before you so much as drop the fish, let alone scream, kid. Besides, I trust you know his signs better than I do.”
He's right. As always.
Your hands are going to smell like fish for the rest of the day.
The thought comes uninvited, absurdly mundane compared to everything else, and yet it anchors you as your fingers tighten around the handle of the metal bucket. It's not the smell that's causing discomfort though, after staying at sea for longer stretches of time, you've come to know the essence of fish far too intimately than you'd like.
The cold bites into your skin as you step up to the edge of the tank, boots stopping just shy of the slick line where water has splashed over and dried in uneven streaks. You should’ve said no.
Even now, you can still hear the echo of your own better judgment, buried under layers of curiosity and something far more reckless. But it’s too late for that.
You’re here. Your eyes glance back to the men now armed wih tranquilizers. They're here. their fingers probably already resting too comfortably near triggers. A safe procedure made of sedation and bad decisions.
He's here. And he’s watching you.
The slow circle Mark had been tracing tightens the moment you appear above him. It’s subtle at first—a slight adjustment in his path, a shallower arc—but then it becomes unmistakable. His movements sharpen with purpose, the lazy drift replaced by something more focused, more… aware.
Anticipation.
You exhale slowly through your nose, lowering yourself into a crouch at the tank’s edge. The metal bucket follows, dipping just enough that its shadow ripples across the water’s surface.
“Easy…” You mutter, though your pulse is anything but.
You hate it.
Mark surfaces in a slow glide, far smoother than anything his size should manage in such a confined space. The water parts around him with barely a sound, his pale sides ghosting into view beneath the darker surface before his head breaks through.
Up close like this, the damage is harder to ignore.
The bandaging. The stiffness in the way he holds himself. The faint, uneven rhythm of his breathing. The poor thing.
Your grip tightens on the bucket handle.
“Hey,” you say, quieter now.
His eyes find you immediately.
Not the bucket. Not your hands.
You.
There’s a pause—longer than it should be. Long enough for doubt to creep in, cold and unwelcome as it pulls on your composure.
Then his tail flicks. A small motion. Careful. Controlled.
Closer.
You swallow, shifting your weight as you finally reach into the bucket. The fish is slick in your hand, cold and pliant, and for a fleeting second, the thought hits hard—
You could still walk away.
Climb down. Hand the bucket off. Let the staff handle it the way they always do—distant, detached, safe. Clinical.
Isn’t this enough already?
He didn’t lunge. Didn’t thrash. Didn’t show even a flicker of the violence carved into his bloodline. For a creature born of an apex predator, raised under one, that restraint alone should be proof enough of something extraordinary.
You’ve documented less and called it groundbreaking.
Your fingers tighten slightly around the fish.
This could be where you stop.
Where you keep the boundary intact. Researcher and subject. Human and mer. Safe lines, clearly drawn.
Because the next step—
The next step is different.
It’s not really observation anymore.
You lift it slowly, deliberately, keeping your movements measured. No sudden jerks. No looming. Just… present with food in your hand.
Mark’s gaze drops this time.
Tracks the fish.
Then flicks back up to your face.
You huff out a shaky breath. “Polite, huh?”
Another inch closer. He’s right beneath you now, close enough that you can see the subtle tension along his jaw, the way his body holds just a fraction too still—like he’s ready to bolt if something goes wrong.
Good.
Stay like that.
“Alright,” You murmur, lowering your hand toward the water. “Same rules as before. No headbutting my—”
The tip of his snout breaches the surface.
Your spine stiffens instantly, every muscle locking as the reality snaps back into focus and into precision.
There's mechanical sounds behind you.
Water laps gently against your fingers as you hover just above him, the fish dangling between you. For a split second, neither of you moves. The world narrows to the space between your hand and his mouth, to the faint sound of water shifting against reinforced glass, to the distant, almost imperceptible hum of equipment behind you.
Then—
A soft nudge.
Not your hand.
The fish.
He takes it carefully.
No snap. No rush. Just a slow, deliberate motion, lips brushing your fingers for the briefest second as he pulls it from your grip.
You don’t breathe until he’s already sinking back under.
The tension in your shoulders releases all at once, leaving behind a strange, hollow lightness. “...Okay,” You whisper, more to yourself than anyone else.
Behind you, there’s movement, someone shifting, exhaling, but no one interrupts.
Good.
Because you’re not done.
Mark circles again, tighter this time. Faster, but not erratic. There’s something different in it now—less hesitation, more certainty. When he surfaces again, it’s closer. Closer than before.
Too close, maybe.
You reach into the bucket again, slower this time—not because you’re afraid, but because you’re thinking.
This is the line.
You can feel it now, clearer than ever.
The space between observer and participant.
Between researcher… and something else.
As you lift the second fish, water dripping from your fingers, Mark is already there—watching, waiting, that same sharp awareness locked onto you like you’re the only thing in the room that matters.
And this time—
He doesn’t hesitate.
I love you all who waited for this, I know it's small but It's all I could manage atm :( @weponxwrites @i-love-frensh-fries @acheronlovely
