Discord drabbles - Male selkie x reader (sfw) (Patreon)

This was for the prompt - “Somehow, i always seem to end up here. With you.”

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It wasn’t like you meant to drag him to the all-night diner on Hemingway…

Derek was just one of those people who couldn’t say no. Not in a bad way; not in a way that ended up with him getting hurt or anything, but he just couldn’t walk away. 

So it was at 1am, after a truly harrowing session in the library, that you messaged him and, to your immense surprise, found that he was not only awake, but out in town. Derek was not the most sociable of creatures after all. 

“What the heck?” you asked, astonished, as you called him instead of texting. 

“What do you mean ‘what the heck?’” he snorted. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that? Where are you anyway?”

“I’m just leaving campus,” you grumbled. “I’m not sure if I’m gonna pull an all-nighter or crash here in this flowerbed.”

“Please don’t do that,” he chuckled. “I’m just leaving Zero. I can meet you if you like.”

“You… You went clubbing?”

You could feel his smirk from three blocks away. “I did.”

“Are you drunk?”

“No, but I wish I were. That place is hell if you’re not not absolutely steaming drunk.”

You grinned, his beautiful, thick, Scottish accent making the words even more delicious in your ear. “What are you gonna do then?” you asked. 

“I’ll meet you somewhere? Grab some food?”

When you did stumble up to the main entrance of the small diner, he was already there, leaning against the door frame and looking like an absolute vision in the neon lights of the town. He smiled, his scruffy, dark beard stretching around his mouth, with teeth flashing, dark eyes glinting. “You look exhausted…” he said as he levered himself upright. He wasn’t tall, and he was pretty stocky; well built in a solid, cosy kind of way that spoke of cable-knit jumpers and immovable strength beneath a soft, slightly squashy outer layer. 

“Gee, thanks,” you retorted. “Just wait til I get some curly fries in me, and then I’ll be good as new…”

The second time you met him at The Waystone was again almost by accident, though it was Derek who messaged you first this time. “Hey, you still up?”

“Yeah, why?” you texted back. “You ok?”

“Not really. Can I call?”

“Course.”

His rasping voice sounded the moment you picked up. “Shitty date,” he growled. “Wondered if you were awake and fancied messaging while I walk home. Thanks for picking up… I know it’s late…”

“Anytime. Where are you?”

“Just turned onto Hemingway.”

“Meet you at the Waystone for greasy curly fries in ten?” 

“I thought you’d be in bed by now? You’re nearby?”

“For you, I can be,” you replied, stuffing your feet into some socks and hopping about with the phone wedged under your chin. Derek was well worth turning out at this time of night, especially if someone had treated him badly. 

“I love you,” he blurted, quickly followed by a muted, “Shit… I’m sorry. I… I’m… I shouldn’t…”

“Don’t be sorry. I love you too. Have done for years. I’ll see you in eight minutes.”

And with that, you hung up, heart pounding. The moment you saw him pacing outside, hands stuffed into his jeans pockets, head bowed low, dark, curly hair glimmering in the streetlights, you knew it was true. You did love him. 

“Somehow,” you said as you drew level with him and took his rough, callused fingers in yours, “I always seem to end up here. With you.”

“Yeah,” he rasped, eyes wide. 

“I meant it,” you grinned, taking his jaw in one hand and stroking a soft arc over his cheekbone. “You hungry?”

“Mm,” he nodded. “Still want curly fries?”

“Heck yeah,” you grinned. “C’mon.” And with that, you tugged him inside. 

Derek didn't let go of your hand, even when your order arrived at the table.