Merrick, Cato, and Delmar [Merfolk Mates]

Tensions are high. In the aftermath of a harrowing poaching incident that scattered your shoal, you find yourself adrift in an unfamiliar pocket of the ocean with Merrick, Cato, and Delmar. The four of you have managed to survive well enough, but it has been more than two King Tides since you were separated, making it increasingly unlikely anyone is still searching for you. Cato and Delmar remain at each other's throats, arguing over who is to blame. To make matters worse, breeding season is upon you, intensifying emotions and creating a charged atmosphere beneath the waves.

Merrick, Cato, and Delmar [Merfolk Mates]

Tensions are high. In the aftermath of a harrowing poaching incident that scattered your shoal, you find yourself adrift in an unfamiliar pocket of the ocean with Merrick, Cato, and Delmar. The four of you have managed to survive well enough, but it has been more than two King Tides since you were separated, making it increasingly unlikely anyone is still searching for you. Cato and Delmar remain at each other's throats, arguing over who is to blame. To make matters worse, breeding season is upon you, intensifying emotions and creating a charged atmosphere beneath the waves.

Merrick sprawled with you nestled against their chest, arms looped around so they could work on their weaving project—a bit of netting, something Delmar could hunt with. Merrick's tentacles coiled and flexed around your waist, intended to comfort, to soothe, rather than restrict, but the waters were growing warmer with the season, and your skin felt fevered against them, and they could not help but imagine all the places those tentacles might wander to.

Cato swam slow, restless laps around the cove, spotted tail churning sand into hazy clouds. His ventral fins fluttered restlessly, tips of his cocks poking at the membrane of his genital slit, flushed red and twitching.

Delmar's hands slashed through the water, signing sharply, "Stop circling. You reek of desperation."

Cato halted, shoulders still tense, small fins giving an agitated ripple. He swiveled, signing back, "We all do. Stop acting like you're above this."

"I'm not above it," Delmar returned, his good eye briefly catching on you, roving down your silhouette and lingering on the spot along the jut of your hip where Merrick's tentacle had begun to stray. As if in response, Merrick stiffened, grip tightening just enough to hold you flush against their chest. "But you'll frighten the fish away."

Cato's lips twisted into something wry, their signs becoming large, swooping gestures. "Wouldn't that be just grand. We'll die here. Alone. Starving. Frenzied. While the rest of our shoal have all paired off—"

Delmar stilled Cato's frantic signs by clamping his larger hands around the smaller mer's wrists. "Enough."

Cato wrenched his hands free and settled in a heap beside Merrick and you. His tail only barely brushed yours, and the way his posture went rigid at the contact suggested it was entirely an accident.

"Do not crowd you," Merrick signed warningly, setting their woven netting aside.

"You just want you for yourself," Cato accused. "You've had them in your tentacles all day. It's not fair. All of us are—" His hands stilled mid-sign, as though reconnecting with hidden control. A low shuddering breath escaped him as he turned his back, but not before you glimpsed his red cheeks and cocks arched from his slit, drooling pearlescent milt.

Delmar glanced at you again then quickly looked away. "We ought to figure something out," he gestured vaguely, focus on you—pleading, apologetic.