Hey! For mermay could you maybe make something angsty but with a happy ending between a GN reader and a merman that can't comunicate verbally so he tries other ways? I know its not like- much to part from but I'd really appreciate it! Maybe in an aquarium or a boat house
merman x gender/body neutral reader
693 words
sfw | angst with potential happiness, mention of scars and cruelty
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Disbelief stretches the seconds, twists them about until your head feels light and warm and you can’t stop your mouth from moving. “There’s a… a merman in the Currant River?”
The station attendant, a young man with a backwards sports cap, jaw cracking with the force of his yawn, simply shrugs. You’ve never heard of merpeople this far inland. “Haunts the old boathouse. Most everyone calls him Echo,” he explains, tipping his head to the road with a River Access sign in large white letters across the street. His mouth clamps shut as soon as the name passes his lips, jaw tensing before he finally breathes out.
“It’s… Honestly, it’s a bit mean, you know? Or, well, you don’t know.” Color rises on his dusky cheeks, nose scrunching, as if he regrets passing on the gossip. One of his hands steals up to his throat, rubbing awkwardly at the base of his neck. “Locals and tourists alike, just… It’s become a game, I suppose, trying to see if you can get him to sing. Anyway, listen, if you’re finished up, I need to-” He gestures towards the back of the shop, and vanishes as soon as you dip your chin.
‘Bit mean’, he’d told you, shame heavy in the line of his shoulders.
You doubt very much that it was only a bit.
You don’t go looking for the merman, no matter how tempting it is.
You can’t be the first person to consider seeking him out with the intention of being kind, but you doubt he appreciates visits born purely of pity. If he wanted to leave the area, if he needed help getting back to his home, surely he would have asked for it?
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Currant River is named for the tide of Mountain Currant bushes lining near every inch of the riverside. Sometimes, if the wind blows strong through trees, berries will drop down into the water, bobbing along with the vivid blue-green current, carried down the rapids like an offering from the river itself.
People used to launch out of the old boathouse with buckets between their legs, gathering berries along the river before birds could pick the bushes clean. It doesn’t happen as often these days, or really at all, now that Echo has taken up residence in the boathouse. It doesn’t erase the desire for the berries, especially when it comes to some of the locals, but it does mean that most of the bushes are picked clean in easy to reach spots.
You’ve been wandering along the riverside for nearly an hour one afternoon, a small bucket tucked under your arm, when you accidentally kick a river rock. It strikes another with a large clatter, skittering down over the bank before it vanishes into the water.
From somewhere up ahead, a sharp crack echoes through the air, a perfect imitation of your kicked rock, followed by the same skittering noise and soft splash.
Amused, you reach down for another rock, listening closely as you tap out a gentle rhythm. Further along the river, the noise repeats. There is no response when you call out a greeting.
Heart in your throat, you continue on, weaving between berry bushes until you come to a stumbling stop around the riverbend. Echo, for it must be him, is sprawled in a patch of sunshine in the shallows next to the boathouse. He’s lithe, silvery-blue and covered with coppery freckles from his shoulders down to his tail, idly flicking from side to side. There’s a fin along his back, and his dark hair is tangled around some of the pronged edges, falling heavy against his cheeks.
You suck in a breath, and Echo turns.
Scar tissue twists up the hollow of his throat, branching out like lightning. Echo imitates your startled breath, though his expression is stoic, bordering on irritated. Your gaze dips to the rock in his hand, sharp edged nails tapping rhythmically along the damp surface.
You sit down where you are, setting aside your bucket and lifting your own rock, he doesn’t move as you do your best to repeat the rhythm.
Standard monster races, but exotic jungle versions.
Parrot and birds of paradise harpies, colourful and tiny or giant driders, giant nagas that spend more time in water than most variants, freaky jungle river merpeople, etc.
may i have a monster matchup? i’m an infp/type 9 student who’s working to get a doctorate in medieval history. i’m very adaptable, patient, and easygoing but can’t make a decision to save my life. i’m emotionally reserved in relationships (passive/indifferent) but i’m physically affectionate. i love going on vacation (beach areas especially), cooking, sewing, fantasy, fashion, antique shopping, children and animals. feel free to also use my blog content and bio as a reference. tysm 💕
If I had to pick you a monster lover, it would be... Betta Merfolk!
These stunning creatures are a race of Merfolk that have some physical traits of a Betta fish! Your Merfolk has lived being a Librarian in a vast freashwater kingdom, but has been sent to land in order to learn more of the world. You and them eventually meet one day, and it was like love at first sight. They have beautiful white fins, and an “old soul” like aura. They love to help you out in any way they can, and if you ever feel overwhelmed, they will bring you gifts from your favorite places~
male octomer x female human
2215 words
lemon | 3rd POV, mention of alcohol, mention of drowning, darker themes, tentacles, mild description of cis female parts, our octomer lad is definitely on the villainous side but everything is (and will always) be consensual
mermay prompt: 'tentacles' and 'if there is angst who am i to complain' and 'ALL 11 HERBS AND SPICES'
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Rivulet is a delicate name, depicting the soft, sinuous trickling of liquid over stone. Over skin. It's a pretty name, gentle on the ears, and paired with Rivulet's handsome face, it’s far more than most need to lose their train of thought. His sweet, earnest voice and his nervously tangled tentacles leave most everyone tripping over their own tongues to assuage his apparent nervousness The slow blink of his eyelids, lashes thick over the human-pink arch of his cheeks, fool everyone into thinking he’s kind, into thinking that they can and will get everything they want out of him.
Alethea thought that once too.
She’s never been blind to his blatant machinations though, having come from the surface world where humans wear false faces day in and out for work. She’s spent years witness to cherub cheeked smiles and simpering platitudes, and it’s easy enough to recognize that kind of mask if you know what it is that you’re looking for. Here in the depths though, any hint of human appearance and warmth is cherished. Coveted, and all manner of things are ignored or purposefully forgotten in the hopes that they might be allowed a taste. Never mind that Rivulet is no more human than the lionfish Mer he’s chatting up, his upper body looks like one, and that makes him popular.
But they believe they can trust him, Alethea thinks, lip curling into a sneer when she catches sight of Rivulet’s flushed cheeks. That he doesn’t have ulterior motives because he’s one of them. Idiots. This deep beneath the surface, his kaleidoscopic hair has turned to shadows and faint flashes of blue, highlighting the pink over his cheeks and the bridge of his nose.
He’s beautiful, like a moonlit prince underneath the glowing blue coral ceiling, straight out of a seaside fairy tale.
“Or a nightmare,” Alethea mutters, relishing the faint trail of bubbles that slip free of her lips. She pretends the swift slide of them are barbs, prickling incessantly at Rivulet’s curling tentacles. At least then he would have a reason to fidget about with them, no better than a child scuffing his shoe in the dirt when they attempt to charm an elder. Alethea swallows, eyes closing tight. Keeping herself angry is so difficult.
She sets down her half empty scallop shell, still gleaming with the dense violet substance that passes for alcohol here, and turns to go, swimming slowly so as to avoid drawing too much attention. Rivulet’s presence has guaranteed that the night will be anything but restful. She doesn’t get far before something cool lashes about her ankle, yanking her to a stop.
Alethea knows exactly who it is, even before she turns her head to make sure of it.
“Leaving already?” Rivulet asks, and the other Merfolk in the vicinity all turn to watch out of the corner of their eyes. They crowd a little closer on all sides, eager to see some kind of show or steal some of the warmth that radiates off of Alethea. Rivulet, at least, is here for something more.
He’s hoping to pick up where they left off, and Alethea’s theory is all but confirmed when his eyes dip to the heavy, enchanted necklace around her throat. The gift of the Tide King, and a human’s only passport down in the Trenches.
Her nose wrinkles, toes curling as she yanks at her ankle, trying to loosen Rivulet’s grip without letting her anger get the best of her. A smirk blooms on his lips, his horizontal pupils chasing away the silver of his eyes. He softens the expression into a genteel smile when the other folk begin to whisper.
“I suggest you remove your appendage,” Alethea says, deathly soft. She lets the flow of the water carry her closer, thankful when her hair shifts, hiding her face from onlookers. Alethea bares her teeth. “Or I will remove it for you.”
Rivulet doesn’t laugh, though she can see the thought of it pass through his head. If Rivulet wanted to ensnare her, Alethea wouldn’t be able to get free—he’s in no danger. He lets go of her ankle, purposefully trailing the suckers of his tentacle over her bared flesh, letting them catch at the hem of her trousers before he finally lets the tentacle fall. She takes a breath, but Rivulet seizes her wrists instead, pouting at her like she’s shut him out for nothing more than a trivial mess. A few of the surrounding Merfolk start to laugh. “Must we continue this tiresome exercise?” He asks, voice pitched low. He’ll play for the crowd, happily work them like a swindler, but his business has always been his own. “There’s no shame in letting anyone drown you with-”
Alethea can barely see through the surge of her own anger. "Poor choice of words, Riv. Now: Back off.”
Rivulet lets go, holding up both hands. His tentacles twist and lash uselessly in the water, but he doesn’t make any sudden grabs for Alethea when she kicks, swimming backwards to put more than a hands-breadth of space between them. Some of the other folk shift in place, fins and tails twitching, but none of them interrupt Rivulet and Alethea’s quiet, but very public separation. Rivulet hums, catching sight of her darting eyes and dips his head, like he’s ashamed. When he slides closer, tentacles catching at the floor of the Trenches to propel him, Alethea forces herself to stay still.
“Later?” He whispers, a single tentacle weaving over her knuckles in an attempt to imitate lacing fingers. The other Merfolk, even Rivulet himself, are probably waiting for her to forgive him straight away.
Alethea pulls her hand free. She refuses to answer and damn herself, but she doesn’t know how much that actually matters. Everyone in the vicinity can read the emotions in her like a book. She’s unbearably angry, but everything about her, from the tension in her shoulders to the twitch of her fingers, spells out one thing. She wants to throw all her caution to the current and say: Yes.
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Rivulet doesn’t say a word when Alethea slips in, clothed in nothing but her necklace.
He smiles, because of course he does, all saccharine sweetness and knowing eyes, strange pupils curling into inhuman shapes as he catches her hands with his own. Tentacles whisper over her knees and down the sides of her calves, ready, reaching, but going no farther. She wishes he would say something, wishes he would open his stupid, lovely mouth, if only because it might make her change her mind.
She shouldn’t have come here.
She kisses him anyway. Pulls her hands swiftly out of his so she can take hold of his face, pressing too-quick kisses to the corner of his mouth before he tilts his head to meet her lips head on.
Whatever patience Rivulet was holding onto vanishes. His tentacles lash around her thighs, his arms circling her to trap her wrists at the small of her back. He takes the kiss over, tongue slipping between Alethea’s lips to muffle any noise she might make—though no one else is around to hear any of it.
Breath still slips out from between their mouths, pinprick bubbles tickling over lips and cheekbones. The sensation reminds Alethea of anger, the way it skitters over skin until everything feels tight and over sensitive. Her teeth find his lower lip, but that only makes Rivulet groan, hands squeezing around her wrists.
Bound as she is, it gives Riv free rein to touch where he will, always hungry for the heat and softness of her skin—and the layer of magic that keeps her safe from the pressure of the depths. It buzzes whenever Riv touches her, as if it recognizes the potential threat of him, but he uses it to his advantage.
Alethea turns her head, gasping for oxygen through the magical filter, sagging in his arms. She ignores Rivulet’s smug grin, closing her eyes to shut out the sight of him, which is exactly when his mouth closes around her nipple. Alethea jerks, eyes flashing open as Riv tugs at her wrists, bowing her further back. He has better access this way, sucking and flicking his rough tongue over the nub of flesh. She trembles, impatient for him to move on, but unable to tear her eyes away. Riv looks drunk on the heat of her, eyes gone heavy lidded, cheeks hollowing. He still looks like a prince, with shadowy hair and his pink lips, but there’s nothing innocent looking about him now, mouth working as he slowly coaxes her legs apart. He slips one of his tentacles between her thighs, dragging the suckers back and forth over her clit, humming around her nipple as she writhes.
The pop as he removes his mouth is muted, but the sight of it, tongue flicking out to chase the taste of her, is enough to distract Alethea for a few seconds. He wriggles the end of one of his tentacles inside her while she’s staring. It’s slim, and slick, despite the surrounding ocean, but he corkscrews the appendage, making Alethea throw her head back with a shriek as it fills her.
Riv laughs, moving with the arch of her hips.
“Shut up,” Alethea says from behind gritted teeth, wishing she could appear unaffected, that she could stop the shaking of her limbs and how eagerly her body responds. A thought passes behind his eyes, but he sighs rather than speaks, bending his mouth to her other nipple, and bites.
A sucker settles over her clit when she screams.
Rivulet’s mouth goes slack, teeth gentling as he concentrates. The tentacles around her legs loosen, and tighten, a strange stroking that serves as a reminder of strength. His hands leave her wrists, the slick slide of another tentacle taking their place as he lifts his head. He stares, trailing fingers along her sides, strangely pupiled eyes focused on nothing but her panting mouth.
“If you wait,” Riv says softly, the tentacle inside of her writhing, “if you just wait, I can make you feel even better. Would you like that? Don’t you want that?”
Alethea closes her eyes.
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Rivulet wants Alethea.
He’s always wanted her, shooting her fuck-me looks whenever their paths crossed throughout that first month. He used every excuse he had to attend the banquets the Tide King held, flirting with her all the while. She’d been foolish at first, thinking him little better than the other Merfolk vying for her attention. He didn’t treat her like them though, kept seeking her out, coaxing her into laughing, into enjoying his company. She’d fallen in with the rest of the warmth chasers, thinking he would be nothing more than a bed partner during her stay here, but the illusion hadn’t lasted long.
Rivulet wants Alethea, but he wants knowledge too.
He wants the enchanted necklace hanging around her throat. He wants to pick it apart, to figure out how it works without having to lend his abilities to the Tide King or the enchanters under his employ.
He wants to carve a permanent place for her here down in the Trenches that doesn’t involve being one of the Tide King’s tourists. Wants to free her from the figurative shackles that keep her within the boundaries of the Tide King’s domain.
She just has to drown.
Riv is lovely, and charming, and knows exactly how to drive Alethea over the edge and keep her coming back. He wants her, her mind, her presence, and would like nothing more than to keep her by his side.
But to stay, she has to change, to give up her ability to breathe on land, to give up her legs and the face she’s always known.
“There are other ways!” Rivulet had assured her after he’d finally confessed his plans, tentacle sliding over her wrist to gauge her pulse. “If I can snare one of his other guests, I’ll be more than happy to take their necklace. In fact, it would be preferable, if I’m being honest. I would rather attempt the spell on another before risking you, and who knows?” Rivulet had turned, pulling Alethea along with him, tentacles wrapping around her hips. “I may be able to amend the spell, and keep that lovely face of yours.”
He hadn’t flinched when she’d told him that sounded like murder.
She should be flinching.
Alethea should be going back to the surface and staying there. She should be telling the Tide King or his other guests about this. Warning them. She doesn’t want Riv to experiment on anyone, even if it might end up with her being able to stay permanently.
But a small, selfish part of her wants to keep the days the Tide King promised. Three more months. Three more months of swimming along the ocean floor and discovering all of the wonders kept beneath the waves. Three more months of Rivulet, and watching Merfolk fall over themselves to flirt with him while he secretly flutters his eyelashes at her, a joke only they share. Three more months of his hands and tentacles on her, slipping between her thighs and making her shake to pieces.
Alethea knows she can’t have it. Not… Not all of it.
for the mermay prompts: female mermaid x gender neutral reader- Reader has chronic pain and often goes to the ocean to just sit in the water and spend some time with their s/o. One day, whilst sitting together, reader gets a horribly strong bout of pain and is comforted by their s/o. fluff, preferably ^u^ thank you!!
mermaid x gender/body neutral reader
354 words
sfw | fluff, mild flirtation, sitting in ocean water, cuddling, reader has chronic pain
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Westerley’s fingers are cool against your wrist, coal-black thumbnail a gentle pressure as she traces idle patterns over your pulse. You breathe in, salt air heavy on the back of your tongue, and tip back your head. Your lips brush against the scales along the side of her throat, the texture of them tickling, like carbonated bubbles, gone before you can think to chase the feeling.
It still hurts, but with her arm wrapped around your shoulders and the water lapping at your thighs, it’s easier to find your bearings, to get your head over the pain constantly clamoring for attention.
“‘S nice, Wes,” you murmur, relaxing into her hold. You press a real kiss against her speckled throat, summoning enough energy to nuzzle in closer.
She hums, pleased, and your eyes crack open. Her hair, dark as oil, with thick spirals of red-violet seaweed laced through the tresses, is damp against your forehead. You can still see her tail though, the dark sheen of her fin swaying back and forth through the shallow waves.
“I’m always nice,” she insists, and pauses in her pattern drawing only when you laugh. She can’t hide her smile, not when her cheek is resting against the top of your head. “When the situation calls for it,” she adds on, completely unashamed. “And it just so happens that the situation always calls for it when it means time in your company.”
Westerley is very selective when it comes to being kind to humans. She’s made more than her share of casual grievances with human passersby.
“I know what you’re trying to-”
“Yes, yes, I’m trying to con you into another date. Is it working?” Westerley leans back, enough for the brilliance of her copper eyes to catch the late afternoon light. For a heartbeat, they’re molten, the warmth of them more than enough to drive away any and all rational thought. She grins, inhumanly wide, gently bumping her forehead against yours.
“Feeling better?”
“How’d you know?”
Westerley’s grin slips into a pleased little smirk. “You’ve grown warm in my arms, enough to chase the damp from my skin.”
mermaid x female human
merperson x male human
338 words
sfw | fluff, can be read as purely platonic or a precursor to relationships, 3rd person POV
mermay prompt: mermaids playing water polo or water volleyball, but not quite understanding all the rules
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The orange volleyball slaps against the water, missing Blas’ outstretched arms completely, scattering droplets of water over his brown chest and across his arms. He doesn’t move, even when an incoming wave catches the ball, spinning it out of reach and carrying it towards the shallows.
“Hey!” Ana snaps, but even her sharp voice doesn’t draw his attention back to the game. She moves forward, reaching for the net to try and get him to look at her, only to stop, jaw dropping open when she finally spots what has Blas so distracted.
A single head has crested the waves, a moment’s swim away. Thick, long green hair floats along the surface, caught in the tide and streaming towards the net like banners in the wind. Their eyes have large pupils, surrounded by thin, silvery irises, but Ana can’t make out the rest of their face.
Blas lifts a hand in greeting, and the merperson waves shyly back, eyes narrowing as they smile, mouth still hidden under the waves. A loud smack startles Ana and Blas both, making them whirl towards the shallows where another mermaid has hold of the volleyball.
Heart pumping adrenaline through her veins faster than a riptide, Ana pulls out a shy smile, tucking short, wet hair behind her ears.
“...would you both like to play?”
The mermaid grins, muscles rippling as she forces the ball under the water as deeply as she can, faintly scaled skin gleaming in the afternoon sunshine. “My serve?” She asks and there’s a flicker of her tail, the arch of a fin on her back as she twists, and then Ana and Blas stare, wide eyed, as the volleyball flies clear past the net and the other merperson.
They promptly vanish, ostensibly to retrieve the volleyball being carried away by the waves. When Ana turns her attention back to the mermaid, she’s staring after the ball with pursed lips, a crease between her hairless brows.
“We may need a few pointers,” she confesses, offering a shy, needle-tooth smile.
You were really happy when you found yourself a secret fishing spot,but that changed when what looked to be a seagull harpy started showing up.
They’d sit there staring,waiting for their chance to strike and steal the fish you caught or even the food you brought to eat while you waited.Putting them in a case didn’t help because then they’d steal that and drop it from high up to break it open or just not bring it back out of spite.
A smart or at least normal person would have given up and moved,but you were stubborn and you had a nice “surprise” for them when you went there again.
Bonus:There’s also a merperson either stealing fish from your hook or putting them on it to help you.
