You find out the hard way that smiling at the mermen in the aquarium where you work isn't the best idea, though you tend to forget and smile regardless.
For the dominant mermen, it's seen as a challenge. Prepare to be mounted by what feels like the heaviest fish in existence. Sometimes they try to fuck you–thank god your wetsuit offers full coverage because you're always getting covered in merman cum–but most of the time they just lie on top of you until they feel you've been sufficiently pancaked.
The submissive mermen might be worse. They get so excited, swimming up to you and flipping over to present themselves, eager to feel your touch, demanding kisses, and whining and complaining when they don't get it.
Yea gonna post a oneshot idea for later. So now Morro is human and joined the ninja like in. 90% of fanfics, also he's dating cole🔥 because I say so. And everytime Cole has to leave for a mission he just. Stays there alone, he tries to find something to do, spends time with Wu. Or just ponders like the emo he is, he just misses Cole and feels alone without him. And then Pixal reaches out to him and start talking and kinda hang out idk and Morro is like "is this how you feel when Zane is out?" And idk vro they start bonding and then the ninja come back and hes like "yay! Woo! Cole!". And then they fuck while Pixal fujoshis out in the background 💯💯💯 /j yeah I believe in Morro/Pixal friendship btw. And also Cole/Pixal friendship too why not
When your research boat sinks in a freak accident, a colossal whale merman holds you and your friends on his back until a rescue team arrives several hours later. After that you keep spotting him lingering close by, keeping an eye on your boat. He refuses to leave to hunt, forcing your team to decide to start feeding him–a duty that falls on you because everyone else is rather afraid of the giant merman.
What was supposed to be a temporary solution becomes permanent and you worry that when you leave for your two-week holiday no one will want to feed him. A week later you're sunbathing on a cozy island somewhere and enjoying your time off when you spot a familiar dark shape far out amongst the waves.
You quickly realize it's not the boat he has been guarding, it's you.
The male siren who works at the same bar as you can only transform through skin-on-skin contact with a human. The bar has become twice as popular ever since he was hired, which is great news for your boss. The task of helping your coworker shift between forms is entirely up to you, and touching his shoulder or arm is usually enough.
Lately the transition time has been taking longer and longer, leaving the siren drained of energy and panting by the time he transitions into his human form. You can tell something is wrong, so you ask. He's visibly embarrassed as he tells you that he needs more contact to shift properly, and all the previous times he's been forcing it.
You let him know you're more than okay with it, and end up hugging him awkwardly over the edge of the blowup bathtub that's been set up for him in the backroom. He's in his human form almost in the blink of an eye, and you share a triumphant laugh. A week passes just fine, but by the eighth day, he's having a hard time once again. It doesn't help that he's supposed to go on stage in ten minutes.
He's stressing out, tugging at his hair and chirping in distress. You've never heard him make that sound before. You decide to clamber into the bathtub with him. Water splashes everywhere as he flails in confusion for a second, but he calms down the moment you wrap your arms around him. A small trill of content escapes him. After a minute he taps you on the shoulder, and you realize it worked. You get out and let him get ready while you squeeze the water out of your clothes as best as you can.
He brushes his cheek against yours affectionately, thanking you before he dashes onto the stage. His voice is particularly enchanting that night.
You own a dragon cafe. People can come for coffee and something to eat and get a dragon to pet and play with for an hour. Most of the dragons are employed at the cafe, but drop-ins are encouraged as well. The dragons are anywhere from two decades old to fifty, ranging from cat-sized miniature dragons to dragons as big as horses. You love shuttling trays of coffee and pastries around with a dragon or two on your shoulders or clinging to your legs. One day just after closing hours the entire cafe goes dark, like someone flipped a switch for the sun.
You poke your head outside just in time to see a massive dragon land just outside the cafe. It has to be hundreds of years old to get to this size. It looks at the sign on the door that says "all dragons welcome!" and then locks eyes with you. It's way too big to even get in the door. You duck back inside and hang up your apron before you get a selection of leftover pastries and pour a big mug of coffee. The dragon is still there when you walk outside with a blanket tucked under your arm. You spread it over the lawn and sit with your treats.
"Come on," you say warmly, patting your lap.
The dragon lowers its head into your lap, letting out a content sigh as you pet its cheek and scratch under its chin. All dragons deserve love, even the big, scary ones.
Vampires need permission if they want to feed, so most vampires use hypnosis as a loophole. But this vampire is terrible at it and spends most nights chasing down humans and begging for a sip of their blood because the only way his poor hypnosis works is if he pleads within an inch of his undead existence.
One day you come along, headphones on, hands in your pockets, weaving through the people on the sidewalk like a fish swimming upstream, entirely in your own bubble. He jumps out of the alleyway to block you and you pause, pushing your headphones down.
"Yes?" You ask, giving him a curious look.
"Can I p-please have some of your blood?" He asks." Just a little bit. Not even a m-mouthful I swear! Just a taste–"
"Go ahead."
"H-huh?" He blinks, because there's no way that just worked.
You gesture to your neck in invitation and he slinks up to you, wide-eyed, quivering as he sinks his fangs into your skin. Oh, it's bliss! He drinks and drinks, clinging to you until you gently push him away.
"I've been watching you. It hasn't been easy, has it?" You ask.
"N-no..."
Suddenly he realizes you clasped a collar around his neck while he was feeding. It has a bell on it and smells like new leather. You flick the bell and listen to it ring.
"Come on, you shouldn't be living on the streets like this," you say.
He could remove the collar if he really wanted to, he could toss it on the floor and run off, but he doesn't. He follows you like a stray cat choosing a new owner, the bell ringing merrily with each step.
It was supposed to be a gag birthday gift. Something funny to make your werewolf roommate laugh. But when he rips open the present, he goes quiet. His tail gives a little, hesitant wag.
"This is for me?" He runs his hand over the black leather band, lifting it for a closer look.
It's a collar and leash you bought from a sex shop. It even comes with a little tag that has Good Dog engraved on it. You thought it was hilarious, but now you're not so sure.
"I can send it back and get something else," you say, reaching for the box.
He shies away. "No. I-I'll keep it. Thank you."
"Okay..." You look at him, confused.
"I'm going out with some friends, so I'm going to get ready..." He ducks into his room and you mentally facepalm, hoping you haven't ruined his day.
Later on that night, you get a text from your roommates phone though it's clearly someone else texting you.
The text reads: Come get your dog :) along with a picture of your drunk roommate sprawled on a couch, wearing the collar and staring at the camera with big, dumb eyes.
Once a year the orc tribes come down from the mountains to take mates and trade with the humans.
You're standing in line with the group of hopeful people hoping to find an orc mate who will care for them and offer them a better life than they currently have. You too are dreaming of living in the mountains with a mate you can come to love in time. Since the plague in the spring took the last of your family, you've been left with no reason to stay in your shoddy little town.
There's something different about this year's group of orcs however. They are taller, more imposing. You only realize who they are when you see the tallest orc going down the line of prospects. He wears the pelt of a bear on his tattooed shoulders, and multiple fang necklaces decorate his thick neck. It's Kathik Do'al, chief of the orcs himself. An excited murmur goes through the crowd at the realization.
The orc tribe only recently changed leaders, and you've heard all sorts of wild stories about the strength and skill it took for the current chief to dethrone the former. Rumor has it, he shed so much blood that day that the mountainside shone red. You didn't see it for yourself so you're not sure how true that is. He certainly looks capable, though. His form bristles with raw power even now.
Just like that, you're having second thoughts. Could you really survive in the mountains with an orc for a husband? Even the chief's men are massive. Surely you'd die upon the first attempt at taking one. You turn with the intention of sneaking out of the line, but a booming laugh stops you in your tracks.
"Running away? I haven't even gotten to you yet."
You wince at the realization that you've been noticed, and you turn around slowly to face the chief.
"I don't think I could withstand the throes of your passion." you mumble, avoiding eye contact.
Your forwardness brings a murmur of amusement from the crowd, and you wonder why no one else seems to be thinking of important things like Can I take an orc cock without being sent to the afterlife.
"Look at me," the chief says.
You mean to obey, but you're too embarrassed to move your head. He tips your face up with a thick finger under your chin and meets your eyes.
"I can be gentle for you."
"O-oh," you stammer, your mouth going dry. "That's... Good."
"You intrigue me," he says. "Will you come with me to the mountain?"
"As your mate?" You ask warily.
"Give me a week. If you are not convinced by the end, I will see you returned safely," he says, stroking your jaw.
The simple touch and his generosity make you go breathless.
"I would like that," you say.
Without fanfare, he lifts you into his arms before depositing you on his horse, a giant beast bred to carry even the burliest orc. From there, you have a great view of the sea of envious faces, and you realize how lucky you are. You have a week to see if you can do this...
