stalker!sayid drabble thing lol
pairing: stalker!sayid x waitress!f!reader
tags: slight age gap (reader is in early 20s, sayid is late 20s), sayid is some cross between a criminal and a hitman idk, stalking, implied murder, kidnapping, manipulation, etc.
stalker!sayid, who you first see at the shitty diner you work at one night. for most shifts it's the same as usual: quiet and unassuming. occasionally, groups of truckers ordering plates of deep-fried garbage keep you company, and if you're lucky, they'll only stare at your ass as you walk away instead of whistling at you like you're a stray dog. but when sayid arrives you feel the room shift. he only locks eyes with you for a moment, and before you can even grab a plastic menu he's making his way to a window booth. you analyze his appearance: tied back hair, white t shirt, black leather jacket, faded jeans. definitely not a trucker that's for sure. not old enough to be a sheriff, you don't see a badge anywhere. your interest piques as you get closer to him, notepad hovering just over his dark eyes:
"what can I get you tonight, sir?"
he stares straight ahead, eyebrow's scrunched together. your eyes dart across the room for any sign of life, but as usual, there's nothing there. you look back at him.
he sighs, "just a black coffee. nothing else."
his voice is deep and gravely. foreign too. you don't usually get tourists in this small town.
you clear your throat, "don't want a slice of pie with that?"
he looks at you briefly with that same scrunched expression, and a primal fear strikes in you. sure, you've dealt with the typical grumpy customer, but his discomfort is different. uncanny.
you barely let out a whisper, "coming right up," and make your way to the counter.
stalker!sayid, who you start to see every night now at the diner. same booth, same cup of coffee. sometimes he looks different though, his hair is less put together, or maybe his faded stubble has turned into a course beard. the bags under his sunken eyes deepened. his hands calloused and bruised. you don't question it. you don't converse much, you're really not suppose to entertain the customers that isn't in the form of refilling empty mugs. but eventually, you can't help but ask for his name one night:
"sayid," he says, less sternness in his voice. he's even holding eye contact with you, watching your expression.
you smile gently and nod, "it's a nice name. where's it from?"
his jaw clenches only a little but you can sense it. he takes a sip of coffee and gulps before speaking.
you've heard stories of war-torn desert cities run by lawless men, mainly stories heavily exaggerated by family members, spoken through the heated chatter of customers, or buzzing from the cheap tv box in the corner of the diner, but that wasn't what you saw when you looked at sayid.
"that's far. i've never been to that side of the world before" you let out a pathetic chuckle, "i've never even been outside of this town."
sayid doesn't say anything, but you can see his face relax just a little. maybe even a slight intrique in his eyes.
you're about to return back to the counter, only until you hear the croak of his voice in your ear.
"what's yours... your name?"
you bite your lip, hoping to hide the flush on your face. you don't wear a name tag, and you shouldn't really give customers your name. it's a cheap diner, not a fancy resturant, most customers don't care about knowing a waitresses name. but sayid isn't just a customer now, and he just gave his. it's only fair.
"it's cute. suits you," he says after you give it. you return to the counter, trying to ignore the pounding of your own heart. it's just a compliment. you're sure he says that to all of the waitresses.
stalker!sayid, who's stalked all of your social media that same night. finding your account was light work, nothing compared to the hacking he was doing back in iraq. within a few hours he's memorized every art piece you've made, every sad poem you've reblogged, every film review you've written that only got a handfull of likes. hell, he's even watched all of those films on your timeline, even the corny rom-coms, just to get closer to you. you're not like this at work, the way you are online. you're raw, vulnerable, real, despite never even posting your face. of course, sayid does get a thrill out of knowing it's you behind all of those posts, something he has that no one else does. he tries his best not to hide his secret around you at the diner, afraid it's not the right time.
stalker!sayid, who, one night, watches subtly from his booth as your older boss yells at you in the kitchen. he's towering over you, a finger pointed at your red face. you're trying your best to hold back tears. you slipped on a puddle one of your coworkers forgot to clean up while carrying a milkshake to a customer, resulting in a pool of melted strawberry ice cream and glass shards on full display for everyone to see. you should have been more careful, more observant, but once again you've made a fool of yourself. how could you be so stupid? you thought as you ran out through the back door and to the alleyway, immediately burying your face in your palms and bawling like a child, whilst sayid listens from afar, already plotting how to take care of that terrible boss of yours later that night.
stalker!sayid, who starts sending anonymous packages to your apartment building. piles of books on your wishlist you never got around to reading, luxurious scented candles you could only afford to sniff, your favorite flavor of gummy candy in a family-sized bag, even a new pair of sneakers after yours get tomato soup spilled all over them, thanks to another distracted waitress in your way. you can't think of anyone in your life who knows you this well to send these packages, but you also can't afford any of this stuff on your own, so you don't do anything. it's not like the packages themselves are any real danger. sayid's just relieved you haven't recognized his car parked outside your bedroom window every day that you receive one of his gifts.
stalker! sayid, who gets angry at you for the first time ever. he overhears you in the alleyway during a shift break, talking with the line cook about a party he's having at his place this weekend. scrawny kid around your age with soft hands and smells like cigarettes mixed with bacon grease. just pathetic, there's no way you're really falling for this.
"c'mon it'll be fun. my band will be there, too." he says with a smirk. god, sayid just wants to rip it right off him.
"you're in a band?" you chirp innocently. the boy nods.
"yeah. i play bass. you like guitar?"
you shrug, looking down at the gravely pavement, "sure ... i won't really know anyone there though."
you let out a soft smile, one that sayid knows you've given him many nights over poured coffee. but he knows in your heart, it's not genuine one. sayid's breathing stops as he watches the kid brush your shoulder and walk back into the fluorescent kitchen, murmuring something to you that he can't quite decipher.
now, it's just you, picking your nails and leaning against the wall. your face is scrunched, deep in thought. you weren't really considering entertaining this boy were you? sayid's mind runs through a list of ideas in case you were, solutions to this little problem. but he needs to act fast, he can't afford to mess this up.
stalker! sayid, who chooses not to show up to the diner for once. it's friday night, the night of this supposed party, but he's lurking behind the wheel of his car in the parking lot, blended in with the night. watching you as you shove a box of greasy leftovers in your purse and wave goodbye to the kitchen staff... plus your new boss that took over after the old one mysteriously vanished.
his breath hitched as you slipped out of the back door and walked towards your car. that ratty old thing, it's not like you can afford better. but that's alright, you won't be needing it for a while. as long as everything goes to plan tonight.
you click the button on your keys, signalling the doors to unlock, and crawl inside. sayid watches in awe as you sink into the driver's seat and rub your temples. you have the same tired and hopeless look on your face at the end of every shift, followed by a few minutes of blissfully resting your head against the wheel and closing your eyes, possibly dreaming of a far better life than one consisting of wiping down tables and counting down the days until payday.
but you don't have to keep dreaming anymore. ever, actually, because in a few minutes, after you wake yourself up, you're going to turn the keys in the ignition and realize your car won't turn on. even though you swore you got the gas refilled this morning. that's when you step out of the car, attempting to lift the heavy hood and lean in close enough to inspect the sparks coming from the interconnected wires, and the rising of smoke. you'll be so distracted by what's going on that you won't even feel sayid's hand, clenching a damp rag, to swiftly cover your face. in a matter of seconds, your legs start to tremble, and your body feels static. you close your eyes, and for what seems to be both forever and just a moment, you're at bliss.
stalker! sayid, who's staring at you in the corner of the dim room you've woken up in, but you're barely conscious to see him.
your head bobs, looking around to make sense of your surroundings. with the warm glow of a bedside lamp, you can see that you're in a soft bed, swallowed in a milky white duvet. you peak at what's underneath the linens but you don't recognize the stains and smells of your waitress uniform; you're wearing something else. a cotton oversized shirt and loose sleeping pants. even... knit socks? it's all unfamiliar. new.
but most importantly, your wrists and ankles are chained to the bedposts. you shake them a few times, the metal is light, almost feeling like jewerly and not a restraint. they're long enough so you can move your hands in front of you, but short enough so you can't sit up. you rattle them harder this time, in hopes that the clasp might break free, but you stop as the shadow of a figure approaches closer and closer, and so does a low voice.
"i dont reccomend doing that. titanium is quite resistant, and it would be a shame if you started to bruise."
you blink a few times to make sure you aren't hallucinating. the sharp eyes, the stubble, the dark curls, it can't be...
"...sayid?" you croak. you can see his face relax when you say his name, but you're not sure if that makes you feel any better.
his mouth widens into a smile, and he takes this as an invitation to lower down on the edge of the bed.
your lip trembles as you look down at the chains, "where are we? why are these on me?"
he sighs and places a hand on your clothed knee. it feels warm and heavy, but brings a strange feeling in you. you try not to wince under it.
"they're just temporary. i'm keeping you safe."
his jaw ticks and his eyes dart to a small, boarded up window on the opposite wall.
"i'll spare you the details," he looks back at you, "nothing you'll ever have to worry about now."
your breath hitches. this is not the same quiet and gentle man you were familiar with every evening at the diner. there was a newfound darkness in his eyes. you shook your head, convinced this was a nightmare.
"you can't do this to me, keeping me here against my will. this is wrong. it's illegal!"
he simply chuckled and leaned in, "if i was worried about legality, my life would be very different," he paused and gazed on your body, "i wouldn't have you."
his looks sincere, and your eyes start to well up with hot tears.
"i want to go home! please, sayid let me go!"
he backs away in anger, shakes his head and hisses, "don't say such things! do you even understand what i've done for you? who else would care for you the way I do? answer me and i'll let you go!"
silence fills the air as your mouth stays open in surprise. you realize this was a serious question, and even worse, you can't think of a single person in your life who's cared for you, even in a fucked up way like this. the line cook from work didn't even offer you a ride to the party. you sink back into the bed and begin to cry softly.
sayid inches closer and brushes your hair from your wet cheeks, stroking your face. you're too tired to squirm away from him and fight back. you grew up hearing stories of kidnapped girls and believed that would never happen to you, you're too unassuming to be taken away. you also never figured captivity would consist of fluffy pillows and warm embraces. you open your eyes to see sayid's face just inches away from yours.
"you're still tired, aren't you? get some rest. i'll bring you something to eat soon."
he speaks so calmly, like it's an already established routine. you don't say anything as you feel a soft kiss to your forehead and his weight leaving the bed.
he walks towards the other end of the room, before turning back around:
"i promise it won't be like this. it's just the beginning. you'll be living upstairs soon," he looks down briefly before making eye contact with you, "as long as you behave."
before you can even say anything, he disappears and the door slams.
you're not sure what the "beginning" means, or how he wants you to behave. but all you know is that rain is rhythmically hitting against the window's glass, and you feel your body becoming weak again, like before, even though that feels like days ago. before you can even remember any more details from that incident, you're drifting off into sleep. you can barely feel the coldness of the chains touching your skin.
plz interact if you enjoyed this!
