worry [galahad woehor x reader]

Marco closed the body bag in one long, deft zip, hauling it onto the small pile of covered corpses. He rose, wiping his forehead with the back of one hand. “That’s the last of them,” he sighed. “Ready to get going, Galahad?”

No reply. Marco turned. “Galahad?”

Galahad was standing off to the side, holding his cell phone to his ear, speaking softly into the receiver. A few seconds later he shut the phone, apparently ending a call. He was frowning, his eyes clouded with worry.

“Everything all right?” Marco asked, his voice edged with concern.

“I’ve called ___ twice now, but there’s no answer,” he mumbled, entering your number once more. He brought the phone to his ear, listening, waiting. His other hand clenched into a fist as the tones stopped and your voicemail began. He’d already left two messages, so he ended the call yet again, slipping the phone into his pocket. His heart thumped harder against his ribcage. “It just rings for a bit and goes straight to voicemail.”

Marco could see the uneasiness carved into Galahad’s brow. He placed a hand on his partner’s arm. “I’m sure they’re fine,” he said reassuringly. “Probably asleep. And besides, if anything were to cross them, ___ is perfectly capable of defending—” He paused when Galahad whipped around to pin him with wide, terrified eyes. The dreadlocked man rushed past Marco, running down the alley.

“Galahad!” Marco called after him, starting to follow. He stopped, shaking his head. Idiot, he thought. Shoulda used the damn car. He sighed, lugging the body bags into the trunk himself. When he sat in the driver’s seat, he paused before buckling his seatbelt and took his own phone out. After a moment’s hesitation, he dialed Connie’s number. One could never be too careful, he guessed.



The door to Bastard opened with a slam, startling more guests than Galahad had intended. He maneuvered past scantily-clad bodies and jogged up the stairs. He was so anxious he thought he might throw up. It was your day off, and you had been awake and eating breakfast when he’d left that morning. Three times he had called you now, and he couldn’t help but assume the worst. He bolted down the hallway, skidding to a halt when he reached the room shared by the two of you. He threw the door open, nearly wrenching it off its hinges, and entered, huffing for air.

The lights were off, but the wan light of the afternoon still oozed in through the blinds, illuminating your figure curled up on the bed. The ceiling fan spun above you, rustling the sheets as you slept peacefully.

Galahad’s eyes softened at the sight of you, safe and sound. He leaned against the doorframe and heaved a sigh of relief, setting his brass knuckles down on the dresser. Your cell phone was on the nightstand, as well as a takeout container—probably your lunch. Galahad wouldn’t put it past you to have fallen asleep while eating. He grinned at the thought, taking off his shoes and slipping into bed beside you.

He called your name a few times, tapping your shoulder until you finally awoke, blinking blearily before your eyes focused on Galahad. “Hey,” he murmured.

You smiled and scooted closer to him, draping an arm over his ribs. “Hi,” you whispered, your voice soft from sleep.

“I was worried about you,” Galahad continued, running his hand up and down your side.

You blinked. “Really? Why?”

Galahad’s hand slid to the back of your thigh. He hooked your leg over his waist, drawing you even closer. “I called a few times. I thought… maybe something had happened to you.”

Your eyes turned somber. You crawled on top of him and sat up, straddling his hips. You were wearing one of your “comfort kimonos,” as you liked to call them. “I was just sleeping, babe,” you assured him, your words punctuated with a loud yawn. “I’m sorry I worried you.”

Galahad smiled weakly, sliding the hem of your kimono up your thigh. The feel of your skin and your warmth beneath his hands was comforting in itself. He exhaled heavily, looking up at you with adoring eyes as an acceptance of your apology. “It’s all right.”

You grinned back and unbuttoned his shirt a bit, sliding onto your belly. “I’m here, Galahad. I’m always here.” You kissed just below his collarbone; his heart beat fast against your lips. You turned your face to rest your cheek against his chest.

Galahad rubbed your back in small circles and pressed a lingering kiss to the crown of your head, his breath fanning your hair soothingly. He closed his eyes, attempting to rid himself of his anxiety, gradually allowing himself to sleep.

I’m just glad you’re okay.