Mermaid Harry (Patreon)

I've always played around with the idea of a Mermaid Harry but I never really pursued it. HOWEVER!!!! I finally wrote a blurb with it :) I dunno if I'll ever make it a whole one shot but you KNOWWW

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Y/N feels like she must be stuck in a Stephen King novel.

Granted it was lacking killer clowns, deadly cars, or girls covered in pig’s blood, but she was in Maine. A very dreary, cloudy, Maine where the cool air bites at her nose in the early mornings and her grandparents live in a house on the beachside, where she’s found a cozy alcove of thick brushes of leaves and large boulders caved in that keep her tucked away. There she lies a thin blanket over the sand usually, pressed away from the water, hiding out from her grandma’s prying about her love life or her grandpa trying to teach her the mechanics of a lawn mower that he definitely didn’t need. She brings a book, maybe some grapes, flattens herself onto the blanket and spends hours reading to the sound of the ocean sloshing against the shore.

For a majority of the summer she would go down here, wait until the feeling like someone was watching her subsided, read for hours, and when the feeling returned she’d roll up the blanket, take her trash, tuck her book beneath her armpit and go in for lunch (or dinner, depending on when she got out there). She preferred that than visiting their little mainstreet for the umpteenth time, buying an ice cream, eating it until it started melting around her fingers (they really piled the things high here, and nobody can eat three scoops of vanilla before it starts losing its shape, she’d bet anything), maybe buying her grandma a necklace that glittered in the sun (when it decided to come out) or bring her grandpa a slice of pie (that she presented to him after grandma had long since gone to bed, because he was supposed to be watching his weight but Y/N enjoyed the toothy grin he gives her when she slides it over to him on the kitchen table. 

Although yesterday, she’d fucked up immensely and her day hadn’t gone as smooth as just waking up, eating fruity pebbles until they soggied, bundling her things, packing grapes, and heading down to her little nook before returning for food later. No, Y/N had promised to help her Grandma’s friend crochet socks for some church sale and didn’t remember until she got a text from her Nan asking where the hell she was (much sweeter wording than that though). She’d checked the time, seen she was supposed to be there five minutes ago, so she scrambled up and left. Meaning she’d scrambled up, pocketed her phone, left her book and left her blanket and left her baggy of grapes in a such a hurry by the time she’d hit gravel road she was winded. 

She didn’t realize it until about 11PM that night and she didn’t fancy the idea of being murdered on the seaside because she was poking around the beach (whether that be by some rogue animal or a possible killer), so she’d just hoped it would be there the next day. Went out as soon as the the sky turned a hazy shade of bluish grey, clouds heavy with rain and threatening a storm floating overhead as she made her way to her spot. Climbing over a boulder, slipping down the side, her feet padding against the sand silently as she dips into the alcove. 

And there was a boy there, with teary eyes, her book in his hands and her blanket beneath him. A boy who. . .who had a scaly tail extending from him instead of legs that had a deep gash within it. One who looked up to her with seafoam irises she could make out from here, partly frightened, partly exhausted, partly melancholy -- it makes her heart wrench first, then drop to the pit of her stomach. 

There was no fucking way she wasn’t in a novel. 

(Was it a Stephen King one? She surely hoped not, or she’d be a meal soon enough.)

Her mouth opens and closes, guppying like a fish because she was very well staring at a mermaid and that was a lot. A mermaid who didn’t seem concerned that she’d discovered him, or even that he was wounded, but was holding her book in his hands and frowning, “I’m sorry,” he sniffs hard, using one hand to stroke at his eyes but his hands were a bit wet and it seems like it merely made it worse, “I just wanted to see what you were reading. I didn’t know -- I didn’t know that the pages would get all mucked up.” 

That’s when she notices that the books wet and some pages are torn but Y/N couldn’t care any less about the fucking thing. Takes a step forward, her hand raising, “Are you --” she begins, but that seems like a stupid question. . .he is, “You’re. . .you’re hurt.” 

The boy looks down at his -- tail -- and nods solemnly, “It got caught on a sharks tooth. Can’t swim ‘cos of it, n’salt water is terrible for wounds I heard a boater say once, so I stayed out of the water but it still hurts.” Then he looks back down to the book in his hands, “Thought I would just wait for you here so you could help me -- would read a book to pass the time, but then I ruined it. M’so stupid.” He’s pouting, his eyes glistening with tears and Y/N starts panicking a bit. She’s not good when people cry. . .can’t even handle herself cry, if she’s honest, as she stumbles forward, looking through her list of questions to ask him so she could distract him. 

“You waited for me?” She asks, confused, “You knew I came here?” 

He nods again, this time sheepishly, “I watch you from behind that rock sometimes,” he points to their left, “Humans always seemed so scary, but you’re the closest I’ve ever been to one and you don’t seem too bad. I’m aces at reading people, don’t you know it? It’s why the lot of ‘em trust me to swim so far from the English Channel.” The wounded tail flipped around carelessly, “Maybe it’s stupid of me fo’ thinking you’d be able to help me tail, but I saw you bandage up your arm once.” 

Y/N recalls it -- she’d scratched her arm along a jagged rock so she’d made use of what she had, tore a sliver of the blanket, and wrapped it around the cut. However, that had been a small scratch then, not whatever was going on with his tail but. . .but could she really leave him here? Could she go get someone? But who would she even fucking get? Her Nan would faint, her Grandpa would probably tell the whole damn town given the chance, and the only other person she talked to down here when she was visiting was Liam and she doubts he would handle this well at all -- bit of a worrywart he could be. 

But she still tries.

“I can -- I can go get someone who --” she begins but he shakes his head quickly. 

“No, no, no!” He says quickly, “Nobody else can know about me like this. . .they’d. . .humans want to do awful things to my kind --” Brows furrowing, he tries to scoot closer to her atop her blanket, “--I only trust you to do it. Can’t you? I have seashells to give you for your time.” 

Y/N’s confused -- so fucking confused, that she doesn’t know what to do. This was every dream she’d ever had when she was younger and had just seen Aquamarine the first time; finding a mermaid, going on zany adventures, having a best friend that was part fish and could get her the prettiest seashells from the bottom of the ocean floor, or introduce her to a crab that can talk or something (she doesn’t know, she was around nine at the time). But seeing it come to life is just a tad more intense than she’d originally thought, and her heart is hammering as she takes a step forward, trusting in this creature but still cautious. 

“I don’t -- I don’t know how to. . .your um -- your tail?” She’s an awful stuttering mess, which is right embarrassing but even more so now that she was meeting some mythical being, “I don’t know how to fix a tail?” 

He frowns for a moment, considering this for just about three seconds before he snaps his fingers, “Okay! Here, I can change ‘em into legs how about?” 

It happens in a way less glorious than she probably would have imagined but it still brought her mouth agape, hanging wide open as the tail loses its scales, becomes a fleshy color rather than the iridescent purple color that had been shimmering and sparkling at her like glass glittering beneath the sun, splits into two, feet growing at the bottom. Admittedly it had been both the most disturbing and most magical thing she’d seen in her entire life, so now there was a cut running down his calf. The leg that was wounded he wiggles at her, a bright smile gleaming on his face, “There! You can fix me now, can’t you?” Pleasantly unaware that he was now stark naked before her, and her eyes go wide, taking her hand to her face so she wasn’t looking. 

“Cover yourself!” She all but cries, “Jesus, use the blanket, yeah? Over your --” she motions around his crotch, and waits until he utters that he did before she uncovers her eyes. 

So Y/N does what she can with what she has; she rips off a part of the already tattered blanket and flips it sandy side up -- carefully does she take his leg in her hand, and place him atop her knee, apologizing softly when he winces, but he only encourages her on with a nod, “S’fine, I can take it. Once I got meself nicked on an old propellor, had to spend the whole summer with my arm wrapped up -- the seals were so mad at me, since we couldn’t mess around like usual.” 

Y/N would be certain she was dreaming if not for how she feels her knees ache from the pebbles that digging into them, or the very real feeling of his smooth skin beneath her fingertips, or the way her hearts hammering began to ease and soothe as she wraps the cut, once, twice, three times tightly then securing it with another piece of blanket. When she’s finished, she leans back till her bum is pressed to her heels, breathing out slow, “That’s the best I can do for now,” she tells him, “If you --  if you feel safe enough, you can come with me up to my grandparents house? They’ve got gauze and medicine and whatnot -- it would do you better than a torn blanket would.” Then she remembers how he says he doesn’t trust humans really, so she rushes to finish with, “If you don’t want to that’s fine but --” 

“Are your grandparents friendly?” He cuts her off, tilting his head to the side. 

Y/N nods, beginning to rise to her feet, “Yes, they’re very friendly. Nan’s at her book club until noon and my Grandpa will be in his garage working on something or another, so you don’t have to meet them. I can just fix you up better there, if you’d like.” 

He seems to be weighing out his options in his head, pondering the right move and it gives Y/N a chance to truly look at him. He’s kind of beautiful, she’ll admit -- his hair is flopped mess of brown curls, some pieces still damp and clinging to the skin of his forehead, his eyes are bright and full. . .they lack the dulled worn look of school or work that so often plagued the faces of people she’s met. A sinewy body, lengthy and appearing lanky -- even more so when he begins to push himself up to a stand, wobbling on his feet and reaching out to grab onto her so that he doesn’t topple over. “Sorry,” he says bashfully, “Been a while since I’ve tried this out.” 

“It’s fine,” she assures him, reaching out to catch the blanket around his waist and tucking it tight, “Here, um --” she moves to guide his arm around her shoulder, “Don’t put pressure on your leg, okay? I’ll help you walk.”

“Thank you,” he hums, relief flooding his words at the realization she wasn’t going to make him do it on his own, “You are very kind, human girl. Me mum would love you.” 

Y/N huffs a disbelieving laugh, her body trying to accommodate the majority of his weight that he’s leaning into her and her mind trying to accommodate the fact that there are mermaids just out and about, living in the English Channel, probably a whole society that’s undiscovered by man. And yet she -- a college student visiting her grandparents for the summer -- managed to dip herself into a situation with a mermaid. A guy who had a fucking tail and was terribly sweet, poking at her hand that had been swaying at her side until he shows he’s making a fist. Wiggles it at her until she gets the hint to put her hand beneath it before he drops two beautiful seashells into her palm -- one a vibrant blue unlike something she’d ever seen before that manages to reflect little images against her hand despite the absence of the sun this morning, the other a soft pink that emerges into a swirl of dark purple, coloring the entirety of it. 

“The seashells for your time,” he reminds her, “I’ve got to hermit crabs for friends -- Bevy and Christopher -- they grew these out in a weeks time, since they’re always eating. You’d get a pretty penny for them if you tried to sell ‘em I think! I heard humans do that.” 

She smiles, looking up to him as he beams down at her because of her shells, “Thank you,” she tells him, holding them careful as she can in her hand while still helping him, taking him the longer way where he wouldn’t have to jump over a boulder because she didn’t want to try it. 

Her mind is racing the entire way home, as she helps him over sandy lumps, sneaks him in through the back door where it cuts through the kitchen, and even though it takes them a solid ten minutes getting up the stairs, they make it in without trouble. Distantly can she hear her Grandpa drilling into something in the garage but with a click of the door to the guest bathroom (her self proclaimed personal restroom when she’s visiting, considering her grandparents lived downstairs and rarely ventured up those steps for anything) they’re alone once again. The buzzing sound muted by the own sound of her heart beating, ushering him onto the blue, fuzzy covered toilet seat. 

“Human girl, you have a lovely home,” he tells her, gaze dripping with wonder as he looks around where he’s seated, “I’ve never seen anything like it before! Granted I’ve never been out of water besides a cave once for my 18th birthday.” 

Y/N digs in the cupboard, only remerging when she’s got her arms full with gauze, antibiotic ointment, the spray that sizzles and stings along with a bandage to wrap and secure the medicine to him tightly. His 18th birthday -- it must’ve been special if they were letting him out of water, so it must hold some of the same gravity as 18th birthdays above the sea. “How old are you now?” She ponders allowed, trying to guess with a look at him -- he looked no older than her, really, maybe by a few years but that’s all she’s giving it. However, it could be the boyish gleam and smile and contagiously chipper mood he seems to be in that de-ages him to a fair degree. 

Grinning, he responds easily, “I’m 323 human years old,” he tells her and Y/N just about ungracefully drops everything in front of him, “I had my birth year celebration in February. It was joyous, we drank moon water from what we heard a human say was Turkish gulf from our new hollowed shells. I got proper silly though. . .could barely swim straight on me way home.”  He sighs, recalling it dreamily, “I wish you could’ve been there, you seem like a right good time.”

“Holy shit!” She all but exclaims as she reaches for a washcloth and wets it before crouching down in front of him, rolling the blanket up just a little so she can unwrap the makeshift bandaging on his calf, “That’s like -- you’ve been around a long time, yeah? Beat me by a few hundred years.” He chuckles and it’s a nice sound, sinking warm and deep into her belly, “What’s your name?” 

“I go by Harry,” he answers, nodding, “Had the name for the prince, I did, but he gets all the credit for it doesn’t he.” 

“That’s annoying,” she notes, cleaning up the blood staining the skin around the wound, “I’m sure you’re the better Harry anyways.”

Harry -- the fucking mermaid -- grins brightly down at her.

                                            .                           .                          .

Once Harry is properly bandaged, she sneaks downstairs to her grandpa’s clothes and digs out an old, worn pair of sweatpants he used to gun around in, in the early 80s (she’s heard plenty of stories about his sweatsuit days) and a black Harley Davidson t-shirt with the print chipping away. She presents these to him, instructing him to put them on and tap on the door three times when he’s finished. Nodding, he looks at the clothing curiously as he shuts the door and Y/N figures she would be there for a while; had she known it’d be close to twenty minutes she would’ve just gone in and changed him herself, but he resurfaces clothed and pleased with himself. 

She helps him limp towards her room, sitting him on the bed, shutting the door, then leaning against it with a heavy sigh of relief. How she’d managed to pull that off, she couldn’t tell you, but she’s damn proud of herself for it. 

Opening her eyes, she sees Harry is marveling at the things around him, and it only then occurs to her that he’s never really experienced any of this before. And though he is quite talkative, and excited to be seeing it all, this is still very new to him just like the concept of a mermaid is new to her. It almost leaves them on level playing field. However, as much as she’d like to explore this, she needs to know what they’re doing next -- needs to know the game plan because Harry can’t change back into his tail because that would ruin her bandaging and worst case reopen the wound. 

Once she explains this to him, he nods, then thinks for maybe three seconds before saying, “Oh, human girl, can’t I just live with you until I’m healed? I will be an ease to spend time with, I assure you, and we can have a lot of fun together I bet. Plus, I want to see more of your world! It is so delightful already, I’m eager to see more.” 

He looks at her, eyes big and nearly pleading and how could she say no? 

Against her better judgement, she replies, “Okay -- okay, yes, you can stay with me for a while,” before adding quickly, “But my name is Y/N -- not human girl.”

Harry seems delighted, rising to his feet and though he stumbles terribly over to her, he catches himself on her shoulders and squeezes tightly, “Y/N,” he repeats, “A lovely name for a lovely girl. Under the right circumstances, if we’d met in my kingdom you’d soon be my bride.” 

His hand moves from her shoulders, up to her face, cupping both of her cheeks and bringing her to his mouth, their lips meeting in the middle. He’s kissing her. . .he’s kissing her and Y/N barely registers it before he’s drawing away, still smiling, gently patting her cheek twice.

“Perfect,” he hums, before shifting gears entirely, “Now, what is a Mcdonald and why is he a clown?” 

What had Y/N gotten herself into?