#for the record I dont think the Items would melt or even get damaged in the fire since its magical/cursed

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

Imagine:

Reader working in retail dealing with a rude customer and Erik is a regular who steps in to put the customer in their place.

“Who the fuck is the manager for this place?”

An angry white woman with thin brunette hair wearing a floral blouse with navy blue slacks marches into a thrift record and book store located in Soho. She had an old record in her hand; a Hall and Oates classic. Looking around with beady angry eyes, she presses her thin chapped lips into a hard line.

“Hellloooo?!!! I said who is the got damn manager of this dump?!!”

Y/N, the manager in question, was ringing up a few customers, wishing them a good day before closing her register. She heard the loud woman loud and clear. Y/N had dealt with this same woman and her daughter on plenty of occasions but they still decided to show their faces. If you had a problem with the thrift store why continue to come back? She wasn’t going to entertain them today.

“Y/N, you want me to call the police?” Y/N’s cousin, Layla, came into the thrifted shop to help every now and then.

“No, it’s cool. I can deal with it. Just get the bat ready just in case I gotta crack some skulls open.”

Clearly, the woman and her daughter didn’t know who they were messing with. Y/N is skilled in jujitsu and she could swing a bat at your ass like you were a baseball. She had to do that to some drunk man one evening who thought he would come in and rob her.

“How about that African stick that Erik got for you? The Nguni stick?”

A sly smirk slid across her face at the mention of his name. Erik Stevens was a regular of hers at the thrift shop. He would come to see her almost every night since he lived in a fancy condo in Soho, Manhattan. Layla was convinced that Erik had a huge crush on Y/N but a man like him couldn’t crush on Y/N. He was gorgeous. Full head of short moisturized dreads, fresh shape up, smelling like coco butter and mango butter, skin smooth and blemish free minus the smooth cemetrical scars on his arms. Manicured nails, white teeth, smooth moisturized lips, muscles everywhere, a deep raspy voice with an allure that has her weak in the knees. Y/N could talk about Erik all damn day and swoon.

“Yeah, bring out the Nguni.”

Y/N adjusted her skater skirt before walking around the register to approach the angry white woman. Her daughter was just behind her with arms folded and a scowl on her face. Let the bitch try something. They were just jealous because Y/N made more profit than they did at that musty ass boutique they owned. Hating ass bitches.

“Can I help you?!” Y/N approached with obvious annoyance.

“I want a fucking refund!!” The woman shook the record in Y/N’s face with rage.

“This piece of shit won’t play!!! You gave me a fucked up record and I want my damn money back.”

“Non-refundable.” Y/N cut the woman off sharply.

“Excuse me?” The daughter decides th speak up now.

“I SAID. Non-refundable. Now can y’all please leave my fucking store this is a regular thing with y’all two.”

Both of their faces grew red like a beet. Y/N was ready to handle their ass if they tried anything.

“See, what kind of owner tells their customer that? You are supposed to be selling good quality items at a thrifted price and you can’t even do that?” The woman expected her words to cut deep but they didn’t.

“Sounds like hate to me. Now it’s time for y’all to go and don’t come back I’m sick of seeing y’all face. Y’all supposed to be running a boutique, right? Ain’t making no money coming up in here with all that bullshit.”

At that point, both the woman and her daughter walked closer like they wanted to do something. Layla walks around the counter, Nguni stick in hand. Luckily there were no other customers in sight. Too late, the door opens and in walks Erik Stevens dressed in an oversized denim jacket, white t-shirt, black cargo pants, and some black timbs. The smile on his face faded once he saw the angry glare on Y/N’s beautiful face.

“Y/N, what’s going on, baby girl?” Erik steps forward, shoulders squared. The sound of his voice made Y/N’s heart melt. She looked up at him, eyes softer now and eyelashes batting like an innocent girl.

“Don’t worry yourself handsome, they’ll be gone real soon.”

The woman looked over her shoulder at Erik, looking him up and down with disgust. Erik was used to that look and it wasn’t about to faze him at all.

“Got a problem with your eyes?” He says while taking his place next to Y/N.

“Are you her husband or something?” The daughter asks with interest. She was loving the sight of Erik and it made Y/N want to gag.

“Dont worry about all that. What’s the problem?” Erik folds his toned arms across his chest, legs in a wide stance.

“I want my money back that’s what,” the woman points to the record angrily again, “it won’t play! She’s selling items that are damaged! I need my money now or I’m not leaving.”

“Oh, you’re leaving. Now.” Erik says with a predatory voice. The woman and her daughter slightly jump at the change in tone. No longer was it smooth and hypnotic. It was dangerous and scary.

“Andrea, call your father,” the woman asks in a hurry.

“Bring your husband and watch I toss his ass out of here.” Erik laughs.

“ARE YOU THREATENING MY HUSBAND?!!” At this point the woman was beyond distraught. She looked like she wanted to cry. What did she think she was coming in here to get her way? It doesn’t work like that.

“You, your husband, your daughter,” Y/N says with a sly smirk, “step foot in here again and see what happens.”

“Free country!” The daughter, Andrea, yells over her mothers shoulder, a pinched look on her face and her chin held high like she was something.

“Layla, pass me my stick,” Y/N reached for the stick, grabbing it in hand to show them that she wasn’t all talk. She meant business.

“Look, she’s gonna use her stick. Do that and we’ll call the police.”

“Nothing new with y’all people anyway. Why don’t y’all just get the fuck out?! You don’t want Y/N and Layla to put hands on y’all, right?” Erik was just as fed up with the shit. Even in this moment Y/N was extremely turned on.

This was going on long enough. Y/N could tell that the woman and her daughter were loosing it, realizing that they weren’t going to get their way with this.

“Well? I don’t see y’all moving.” Erik barks out. The door to the shop opens and a stout man with grey receding hair and a mustache that reminded you of the end of a broom steps forward with his fists balled like he was about to do something.

“What the hell is the problem!!!” He yells. He sounded like a sailor. A fucking Popeye.

“Nothing, dear, go back to the shop.”

“Oh, there is a problem. Andrea texts me about coming here because some man is making threats to my family! My brother is a detective he will have you arrested, pal!”

He wagged his finger at Erik who stood there with a wide grin.

“Go ahead, super Mario looking mother fucker. Shit don’t faze me. All I’m saying is, your salty ass wife and daughter need to bounce. This ain’t their place, they are trespassing.”

Erik Shrugs, “so what’s it gonna be? Cuz y’all getting too comfortable.”

The woman and her husband share looks while Andrea watches from the door with a sour expression.

“...Becky, lets go.”

The mention of her name made Y/N laugh. Erik had to nudge her shoulder to stop her before he broke out into a fit. He needed to keep it serious if these people were to leave. Finally.

“No! No Robert!” She was on the verge of tears.

“Becky...we have to close up shop. Plus, let’s not get involved with these types of people. You don’t know what they are capable of. One of them has a damn stick dont be surprised if they don’t have a gun.”

His words cut deeply. He knew what he was doing saying that. Erik’s eyes squinted at the man, his jaw clenched tightly. He was trying his hardest to keep his cool after that purposeful comment. He wanted to provoke them so they could give him a reason to call the police or continue to stereotype them.

“FINE!!!” She throws the record down, the sound of it breaking catching all of their attention. Without a care, she turns, pushing past Robert and her daughter to leave. Robert gives Erik and the others one final look before leaving himself, stepping on the record with a stomp before exiting. Layla, Erik, and Y/N watch the doors close, all of them collectively sighing before shaking their heads.

“Some bullshit,” Layla says, “makes me wanna follow them and beat their ass.

“AINT worth it, shorty,” Erik says with an exhausting voice, “they gone, let them go back to that funky ass store and continue to hate on Y/N.”

Erik pulls Y/N in for a tight hug, “I don’t play with that shit. Fucking with my girl like that. Mad she flexing on y’all.”

Y/N allowed herself to smell Erik. He smelled just as tantalizing as he always did. He was so warm and big, big in a protective way. She loved the fact that she could feel every single muscle through his thick layer of clothes. His lips pressed into her forehead.

“You knew I had to stop by before I headed home, girl,” Erik pulls away from her, looking from the stick he gifted her to her pretty face. He never got the courage to ask her on a date but Erik knew she was feeling him just as much as he was.

“I was wondering when you would come by,” she looks away shyly, “thanks for sticking up for me, you didn’t have to.”

“What I just say?” Erik arches a single brow. Y/N licks her lips nervously.

“You hear me talking to you?” He grabs both sides of her face, making her look up at him.

“No body. Messes with. My girl.”

His words cut deeply like a sharp knife. She could feel it sinking deeply within her veins. His girl. That’s what he referred to her as.

“Okay...” she was being timid. Erik laughs, his hands on her waist.

“You got them books I wanted? The Malcom X ones?”

Y/N knew Erik could buy them online but he wanted to be near her. She fought to squeal about that.

“Yeah, I saved them just for you.”

“Good, show me.”