#luxury bag repair

[theleathercareco]

Top 5 Signs Your Luxury Bag Needs Expert Leather Repair

Preserve the Elegance of Your Luxury Investment

Yourluxury leather bag is more than just a fashion accessory; it’s a statement of style, sophistication, and often, a cherished investment. However, no matter how carefully you handle it, time and usage can affect its appearance and quality. Like any other premium item, luxury leather bags require special care and, sometimes, professional repair to maintain their original beauty. Whether you’re dealing with scratches, faded colours, or damaged straps, knowing when to take your luxury bag to an expert is crucial to preserving its value.

If you’re wondering, “Is there a service for leather bag repair near me?”, you’re in the right place. This blog outlines the top five signs that your luxury bag needs expert leather repair, along with tips on finding the best leather bag repair & services in Delhi.

1. Visible Wear and Tear on the Leather Surface

The most common sign that your luxury bag needs professional attention is visible damage to its leather surface. High-quality leather, while durable, can still show signs of wear and tear over time, especially if the bag is frequently used. This may include:

Scuffs and Scratches: Leather is prone to scratches from brushing against rough surfaces or accidental damage from everyday activities.

Fading and Discoloration: Exposure to the elements, such as the sun, rain, and air pollution, can lead to uneven fading, giving your bag a worn-out look.

Peeling Leather: Poor-quality or untreated leather can begin to peel or flake, making your luxury bag look unsightly.

If you notice these signs, it’s time to search for leather bag repair & services in Delhi or your local area. Professional repair services at our leather care co use advanced leather care techniques, such as conditioning, colour restoration, and surface treatments, to restore your bag’s former luster. For fading and discoloration, color-matching solutions can revitalise your bag’s natural hue, making it look brand new again.

2. Damaged Handles and Straps

The handles and straps are among the most-used parts of your luxury bag, which makes them more susceptible to wear and damage. Over time, the stress of carrying heavy items can cause:

Fraying or Tearing: Constant pressure can cause the stitching to fray or tear, particularly in fabric-lined leather handles.

Worn-Out Leather: Leather handles can crack or become thinner over time, reducing the bag's sturdiness and making it uncomfortable to carry.

Handle Detachment: In severe cases, the straps or handles may completely detach from the body of the bag due to weakened stitching or broken hardware.

Ignoring these issues can lead to further damage and render your bag unusable. Thankfully, professional handbag restorations & repair services specialise in repairing and reinforcing worn-out handles and straps. Whether it’s restitching or replacing damaged sections, expert technicians can restore the structural integrity of your bag, ensuring it remains functional and stylish.

3. Loose or Broken Hardware

Luxury bags often come with high-end metallic hardware, including zippers, clasps, buckles, and chains. These elements are essential for both the functionality and aesthetic appeal of the bag. Over time, however, you may notice issues like:

Broken Zippers: Zippers that are stuck, misaligned, or broken can severely hinder your bag’s usability.

Tarnished Clasps and Buckles: Metal components can tarnish, rust, or corrode over time due to exposure to moisture and everyday use.

Missing or Loose Decorative Elements: Chains, studs, or any other metal embellishments on the bag can become loose, fall off, or break entirely.

Trying to fix these problems yourself can often lead to more damage. Instead, look for aluxury bag leather repair service has expertise in handling such intricate repairs. Professional technicians can replace or repair damaged hardware, polish and restore tarnished metal, and ensure that all decorative elements are reattached securely.

4. Cracked or Torn Lining

While most people focus on the exterior of their luxury bag, the interior lining is just as important. A damaged lining not only detracts from the overall appearance of the bag but can also compromise its functionality. Here are some common lining issues:

Tears and Rips: These often result from sharp objects or heavy use. Over time, the fabric inside the bag can rip or fray, making it difficult to keep your belongings organised.

Stains and Discoloration: Spilled makeup, ink stains, and accidental food or drink spills can quickly ruin the appearance of the bag’s interior.

Lining Detachment: In some cases, the lining may begin to pull away from the bag’s outer leather, reducing its structural integrity.

Expert repair services can address these issues by relining the bag or cleaning the interior to remove stains. For serious damage, replacing the lining altogether might be the best solution. When searching for the best handbag repair & dry cleaning services, make sure they offer comprehensive solutions for both the inside and outside of your bag.

5. Loss of Shape and Structure

One of the hallmarks of a luxury bag is its well-defined shape and structure. However, with regular use, especially if the bag is overloaded or improperly stored, the bag can begin to lose its shape. Here are some signs that your luxury bag is suffering from structural issues:

Sagging Base or Sides: If the base of your bag starts to sag or the sides become floppy, it’s a sign that the bag's leather and structure are weakening.

Bent or Warped Frame: Some luxury bags are designed with an internal frame to maintain their shape, but this can bend or warp due to rough handling or improper storage.

Misshapen Corners: Overloading the bag or constant use can cause the corners to lose their firmness and structure, making the bag look worn and untidy.

To restore your bag’s shape, professionals offering handbag restorations & repair use high-quality materials and techniques to reinforce the internal structure. By rebuilding the frame and treating the leather, they can bring your bag back to its original shape and sturdiness.

Where to Find Expert Leather Bag Repair Services in Delhi

Delhi, being a bustling city filled with fashion-conscious individuals, offers a range of services for luxury leather bag repair. However, not all services are created equal. The following are some things to think about when looking for leather bag repair and services in Delhi: 1. Reputation and Reviews: Look for repair shops with excellent customer reviews, especially from clients who have luxury bags.

2. Experience and Expertise: Ensure the repair service has experience working with high-end and branded bags, as these require special care.

3. Variety of Services: From colour restoration and leather conditioning to structural repairs and hardware replacement, the best repair businesses provide a wide range of services.

4. Certifications and Training: If possible, choose a repair service that has certified technicians who are trained to handle luxury materials and intricate repairs.

Some popular services in Delhi for luxury bag repair include The Leather Laundry, ShoeVival, and Colorwash. These services specialise in restoring luxury leather goods to their original splendour, ensuring that your bag remains a timeless accessory.

Conclusion

Your luxury leather bag is an investment that deserves to be cared for properly. By keeping an eye out for these five signs—wear and tear, damaged handles, broken hardware, torn lining, and loss of shape—you can address issues early and prevent further damage. Whether you’re searching for leather repair near me or want to find the best leather bag repair & services in Delhi, choose a professional service that can restore your bag’s elegance and value. With the right care, your luxury leather bag will continue to turn heads for years to come.

[tuffleathercare]

Best Luxury Sofa Cleaning Repair & Restoration Services

Leather is very unique and look nice to wear, that's why its hard to wash it at home and maintain it. Tuff leather care is giving you the best services to maintain your leather items . We give you leather repair, restore and laundry services that we can restore your memories with your items. Luxury sofa cleaning repair & restoration services is the one of the best services we provide. Contact today for further information and services.

[doctoruncle2013]

Premium Shoe and Bag Repair Shop

In the fast-paced world of fashion, we often invest in exquisite shoes and designer bags that complement our style and reflect our personality. However, over time, wear and tear can leave our accessories in need of some tender loving care. Doctor Uncle is Delhi’s premier shoe and bag repair shop, dedicated to restoring your cherished items to their former glory.

[luvvictoria]

I've been thinking abt a poly!tf141 with a fem!reader who like is from the country side AND I'M CRACKING, OH LAWD!!!

Task Force 141 had seen you kill a man from 700 meters away. They had seen you tear through enemy lines with the precision of a seasoned warrior, your movements deadly and efficient. But what they hadn't seen—what they couldn’t wrap their heads around—was the life you returned to after every mission.

Because while Ghost, Soap, Price, and Gaz spent their leave in safe houses, military bases, or the occasional urban apartment, you?

You went home.

To the countryside.

To your massive, luxurious farmhouse nestled in the hills of a quiet village, where the air smelled of fresh hay, wildflowers, and the occasional whiff of cow.

And when TF141 finally visited, they were not prepared.

The First Time They Saw the Farm : "What the fuck—" Ghost had been the first to say it when you pulled up to your estate in an old pickup truck, the gravel crunching beneath the tires as you parked in front of a sprawling wooden house with a red-tiled roof.

There were animals everywhere.

A massive black and white cow lazily chewed its cud near the wooden fence. Chickens and roosters strutted about like they owned the place. A gray donkey stared at them with judgmental eyes. Two ducks waddled past as if they were on a mission. Dogs barked excitedly at the sight of you, tails wagging. A cat lounged on the porch, stretching in the warm sun.

And then—a fucking horse trotted up to you, nuzzling into your palm like a puppy.

"Price," Gaz whispered. "She has a fucking farm."

"A fancy one at that," Soap muttered, still stunned.

"You lot gonna stand there all day?" You grinned, tossing your duffel bag over your shoulder. "Come on in. Dinner’s almost ready."

They were bewildered. They had spent years with you, fighting side by side, seeing you covered in blood, sweat, and gunpowder—and now you were leading them up the front porch of your cozy countryside mansion like a perfect little housewife.

And the worst part? They liked it.

You, The Deadly Soldier and The Perfect Housewife

Soap had expected you to relax on your leave. Maybe sleep in, drink some tea, read a book.

But no.

You were up at the crack of dawn, slipping out of bed before any of them could pull you back in, dressed in overalls and a white tank top, heading out to feed the animals like it was just another mission.

"Morning, sweetheart," Price murmured, leaning against the doorway as he watched you toss hay to the horses.

"Morning, Captain," you teased, kissing his scruffy cheek before moving on to collect eggs from the hens.

Ghost watched in silence, arms crossed, as you scolded a particularly feisty rooster. "You peck me one more time, and I swear to God, I’m making soup outta you."

Gaz almost choked on his coffee when you turned around and gave them the sweetest, most innocent smile.

"You boys want breakfast?"

Fifteen minutes later, they were sitting at a massive wooden table in your warm, sunlit kitchen, eating fresh farm eggs, homemade bread, and smoked bacon.

And Soap was ready to propose.

Domesticity With a Side of Chaos

Price: Loves sitting on the porch with a cigar, watching you work. He helps with repairs, fixes fences, and absolutely adores the peacefulness of your home.

Ghost: The animals are terrified of him at first (except the donkey—the donkey hates him). But the barn cats adopt him, curling up in his lap whenever he sits down.

Soap: Thinks farm life is the best thing ever. He learns how to milk a cow, names every single chicken, and gets way too attached to a piglet.

Gaz: "Babe, I love you, but this rooster is evil." (He got chased one too many times.)

And at night?

After a long day of farm work, you slip into something soft and lacy, curl up in their arms, and remind them that you’re not just a soldier, not just a farmer—you’re theirs.

They Never Want to Leave

By the end of their stay, not a single one of them wants to go back.

"You sure we have to leave?" Soap pouts, feeding the ducks.

"Darlin’," Price murmurs against your neck one night, arms wrapped around you in bed, "Ever thought about retirin’ here? With us?"

Ghost doesn’t say it out loud, but when he watches you laugh, your hands covered in flour as you bake bread, he knows he never wants to be anywhere else.

And Gaz?

He just sighs, watching the sunset over the hills. "I never thought I’d say this, but…I think I’m in love with farm life."

They were all in love. With you. With this. With the life they could have, if only they stayed.

Maybe one day.

For now, they’d enjoy every stolen moment in their countsyde paradise. But what if we make thing spicy ? A little bit, at least.

Ghost Was The First To Break

Ghost had held strong. Longer than the others.

While Soap got weak-kneed watching you bend over to pick up hay, and while Gaz couldn’t stop staring at your thighs in those tiny denim shorts, Ghost had kept his cool.

Until that damn sundress.

White. Light. Flowy. Just enough fabric to tempt, but never satisfy—clinging to your curves, slipping off your shoulders as you carried a bucket of water to the horses.

He had been cleaning his rifle on the porch, but his grip tightened the moment he saw the fabric sway with your every step.

And then?

You had the audacity to look over your shoulder and wink at him.

He dropped the rifle.

Soap Lost It In The Barn

Soap had always been shameless about his attraction to you.

But you?

You were even worse.

It was an accident—(was it?)—when you walked into the barn one night, looking for something. The others were inside, drinking whiskey in the house, but Soap had been alone, brushing down one of your horses.

And then he saw you.

Wet.

Covered in rain.

Your thin white blouse clung to you, completely see-through, nipples pebbled against the fabric.

"Lass," he had rasped, watching as you closed the barn door behind you, stepping forward, voice all honeyed and sweet.

"Johnny," you had purred, voice dripping with something that wasn’t innocence, "I’m cold."

He snapped.

The horse had seen things that night.

Price Was The Most Dangerous

Price was a man of control.

A man of restraint.

A man who knew how to bide his time.

But you?

You tested him.

You liked to push. You liked to see how far you could go before he gave in.

And God help you—you found his limit.

It was late. The others were asleep. You were making tea in the kitchen, standing on your tiptoes to reach a mug from the top shelf.

Price had walked in just as your nightgown slipped up your thighs.

It wasn’t fair.

The soft, white cotton. The little lace trim. The way your bare legs looked so smooth, so inviting—and the sleepy way you turned, so unaware of what you were doing to him.

You looked up at him, mug in hand, and smiled. "You want some tea, Cap?"

And then—his hands were on your hips.

Voice rough.

"You know damn well what I want, sweetheart."

Gaz Had It The Worst

Gaz?

Gaz was a goner the first time he saw you in nothing but boots and his shirt.

You had come in from the field soaked in sweat, hair messy, thighs speckled with dirt. You had tossed your muddy clothes into the laundry room, grabbed his green tactical shirt, and walked around the house like it wasn’t driving him insane.

"Babe," he groaned, rubbing a hand down his face, watching you stretch, the hem of his shirt riding up to dangerous levels.

You blinked. All innocent. "What’s wrong?"

Gaz was a patient man. A respectful man. A man who was about to lose his goddamn mind.

"Come here."

You smirked, walking over slowly, pressing your hands to his chest.

"You’re so easy to rile up," you giggled.

His hand wrapped around your throat.

"And you’re about to learn what happens when you push too far."

[mockerycrow]

PACK CUDDLES (Hybrid!141 x GN!Human!Reader)

multiple characters masterlist

summary; the base’s heaters have all broken and aren’t due to be repaired for a week—it’s the middle of winter and you’re one of the few humans on base.

[WARNINGS; hybrid stuff, can be read as platonic or romantic, fluffy, sickness.]

THE BASE HEATERS decided to break at the worst possible moment—during the harshest part of the winter. They’re baseboard electric heaters that line every barracks room; the general community rooms such as the common area and the training rooms have central air and heating, but they didn’t decide to provide the barracks with the same luxury. It was never much of a problem, really. Nearly everyone on base was a hybrid of some kind, usually a bigger animal due to the needs of the military so they would produce body heat hot enough to keep them warm for the duration of when the electrical technicians would come in to fix the wiring, or replace the heaters.

Unfortunately for you, you are not a hybrid. You were born to completely human family members, and you have no hybrid genes in your chromosomes. Also unfortunately for you, you were for some reason one of the ones tasked with shoveling the pathways and roads on base—your station has no snow plows as the winters are usually mild to moderate, but this year decided to fuck you over harshly. You spent hours outside in the snow, bundled up in your warmest uniform with a winter coat, boots, gloves, hats, and even a balaclava on to keep as much warmth as possible. 

On day 2 without a heater, you woke up in the middle of the night unable to breathe through your nose. Your face is aching terribly—likely your sinuses—and it feels like you swallowed glass and gargled salt water right after. Your chest aches and you overall feel terrible, and you feel both hot and cold at the same time. Even after bundling up in your warmest hoodie and sweatpants—you slept with socks on, too—you just could not evade the sickness. Harsh coughs rack your body, your eyes tearing up as pain shoots through your chest and your throat to your ears. You groan and press your face into your pillow for a moment before you slowly kick your blankets off, pulling your hood up after sitting up.

You slip your feet into your slides and you check the time—0328. Fuck. The boys should be returning from a short mission soon. You hold in a sigh in fear of further hurting your aching throat, making your way towards your bedroom door. You grab your keys on the way out, letting your door close behind you. You squint as the hallway lights irritate your eyes, but you lay them no mind, walking down the hall to seek out the kitchen. Luckily, this base allowed basic medicines in a cabinet in the kitchen, so began your search for some cold medicine, and perhaps some sinus medicine too if you can take both at the same time.

To your sickly delight, no one seems to be awake right now—or at least hoarding the kitchen—despite many of the hybrids on base being nocturnal. You aren’t in the mood to really talk.. Not like you could, anyway. You shuffle your way to the counter with a harsh sniffle, opening the cabinet and rummaging around. You find some compatible cold and sinus medications, and you decide to grab a tea bag and the little plastic jar of honey, deciding that you want to soothe your throat. The air running through your throat makes it ache more. 

You put your forearms on the counter and arch your back, laying your head down as you wait for the electric kettle to heat up the water. At least the kitchen is warm. You holy a bit after it must be a few minutes, hearing the kettle heating up. You lift your head and see steam emitting from the opening, so you switch it off and begin to make your tea, stirring honey into the mug. You shove the pills into your mouth and swallow it down with a wince, using the tea. You sip the tea slowly until the mug is empty, so you quickly wash it out and put it in the sink to properly wash later. With your throat feeling a little better and a handful of paper towels, you head back to your room to go back to sleep.

The next time you wake up, it’s slow and uncomfortable. You’re on your back and you first feel the pain rippling through your throat with every wheezy breath you take—it’s a bit harder to breathe than before, even with the sickness—and then you notice the heat. Wait.. the heat? Isn’t the heater broken?

Your eyes flutter open, unfocused and bleary, with twinges of pain due to the dawn shining through your poor excuse of black-out curtains. Something shifts on your chest, causing you to glance down. When your eyes focus, you’re face to face with a wolf looking husky—striking blue eyes that are peering into your soul, the wolfdog’s fur being thick; white and grey, his ear twitching as he stares back at you. It takes you a moment before recognition filters through. It’s Soap!

A lazy smile spreads on your face as you pet his head between his ears, causing him to lick his snout. “Hey, Soap.” You croak. You sound absolutely dreadful. Three more heads pop out of view, making you flinch ever so slightly. “Jesus!” You hiss, looking at the other three. You’re met with a Grizzly bear, a Barbary lion and a Jaguar; Price, Ghost, and Gaz. Your bed springs croak under the weight of all of them—they broke your frame a year ago, still in the search for a frame that can handle a bunch of weight—and they shift closer to you. A low, rumbling noise comes from Ghost. There’s not much noise he truly makes in his lion form, he often is silent—except for the occasional chuff or intimidating growl—so you know the rumbling means something. 

You reach out to him with your other hand, tangling your fingers in his mane, feeling the rough texture between your fingers. His dark eyes stare at you and if you didn’t know Ghost as well as you do, you would likely be shitting yourself right now. He pushes his snout into your palm for a moment before his rough tongue peaks out and licks over your palm, making you wince from how prickly his tongue is. Ghost then lets out a huff, his breath reaching your face as you watch the Jaguar—Gaz—slink up to your face, the three of them; Gaz, Soap, and Ghost invading your personal space. No doubt that they can smell how sick you are. You think absentmindedly about when they returned from their mission. 

“I’m okay.” You say, your voice hoarse. You can’t help but wince at how you sound, but you don’t dwell on it too much when Gaz’s hard head pushes into your cheek, making you smile. “Yes, I promise.” You add on, moving your hand from Soap’s head to Gaz’s neck, your other hand still attending to Ghost’s mane. You glance over to where Price is, seeing his two little ears peering up behind Ghost. You groan dramatically and pat the spot next to yourself. “C’mon, Captain. You guys can be my heaters, I guess.” You weakly joke, earning a whine from Soap, who hasn’t moved an inch from laying on top of you. You make a noise in return, your eyes feeling heavy once again when the heat surrounding you finally becomes comfortable. “Supposed to fix ‘em soon.” You mumble, already half asleep by the time you feel Price’s nose sniff your cheek, checking in on you.

[lesservillain]

strange lights masterlist

summary: new faces, old home.

wc: 7.8k

“I’d never given much thought to how I would die. But dying in the place of someone I love sounds like a good way to go.”

Hawkins is cursed.

If the countless murders and freak accidents over the years weren’t enough to convince a person, the perpetual overcast that deprived most of the town’s occupants of proper vitamin D should be enough to keep anyone out. The stark contrast in the sunny sky as you pass the Welcome to Hawkins sign would probably unnerve anyone traveling through. But you knew better, having lived here for the first 10 years of your life.

“Well, this is it.”

After driving what felt like an eternity into the woods, your father pulls up next to his police truck at the cabin that he calls a home. It was pitiful, but you could tell where repairs had been made, or rather an attempt was there. You wondered if they were rushed at the news of your arrival. You felt bad for only giving your dad a two week notice, but to be fair, so did your mother when she told you that her new husband was being stationed in Japan at the beginning of the month. David offered to let you move with them, but you’d declined, even if you weren’t too terrified of being in a plane over the Pacific ocean for any amount of time, you’d rather stay in a place you had somewhat of an attachment to. And if your dad had any objections to you coming to live with him he never made them apparent. 

Climbing out from the beat up two seater truck, you stretch wide, twisting at the waist to loosen your joints after the long car ride. “Wow,” you swoon sarcastically, pointing a thumb over your shoulder, “didn’t know you could afford such luxury on a police chief’s salary, Hopper.” 

“Har Har,” he says, pulling your bags from the back of his truck. He walks past you, voice echoing into the open woods surrounding you, “It’s got air conditioning and I pick up dish out here, so it’s good enough for me.” 

It doesn’t take long to get the little luggage you brought with you into the empty room. Well, it was almost empty, say for a punching bag hanging in the corner. 

“Thought you might get bored,” your dad laughs to himself, lips tugging at the corners on your own face as you shake your head. Before getting into your bags, your dad insists on going into town to eat. “Benny said he’s excited to see you.”

“Whose Benny?” you ask, brows pinched. 

“He owns the diner in town. Do, uh, do  me a favor and pretend you remember him, okay?” 

You shrug nonchalantly, “Sure. Anything I need to pretend to remember?”

He just laughs, pushing at your shoulder playfully. Once at the diner, it’s not only Benny who remembers you, but apparently half the diner knows you. Guess it comes with your dad being the police chief, and you did your best to fake interest in what every other party had to say to you. When you finally got to take a seat, you looked at your dad with wide eyes, mouthing “what the hell?” He gave you an innocent shrug, attention being taken away at the sound of the diner door opening.

Loud laughter disrupts the atmosphere as a group of four younger adults enter the building. You crane your head around to get a look at them. Three of them were well dressed, two guys and a girl, looking like they had just come from a golf course. Their fourth member stood out in the group, plain clothes and quiet disposition a stark contrast to the others. You turn back around, rolling your eyes trying to avoid the group. However, your dad had other plans, waving them over to your table.

You look at him bewildered. “Dad,” you whisper yell, “Stop it!” But he ignores you, continuing until the four of them are standing at the end of your table. You keep your eyes down, trained on the mustard yellow colour of the table top.

“Hey, Harrington, you remember my daughter right? You two were at the same elementary school. Sweetie, you remember Steve.” You give him a look of annoyance before looking up at them. The one your dad says is Steve is standing front and center, clearly the leader of this little group. His hair is done perfectly, blue striped polo looks like it was ironed before leaving the house, and his slight tan tells you he’s probably part of the uber wealthy country club built on the edge of the town in Loch Nora.

“Hey, Hopper,” he says, greeting your dad with a handshake. He looks smug, like his dad has probably paid yours off once for stupid things he’s done in his high school days. When he finally looks at you, you’re fully expecting him to only spare you a quick glance. Instead, he freezes in place, hazel eyes fixed on yours. You squirm a bit under his stare, clearing your throat.

“Uh, I don’t know if I remember,” your tone is unsure as you try to read him, “I went to Center, not Loch Elementary.” When you look at the other members of the group, you notice that they are all looking at Steve with wide eyes. Then they all look at you. Frankly, it’s very unsettling and you really wish they would go away.

“Oh, well, maybe you remember Jonathan then,” Your dad leans back to catch the attention of the shyer man, “Joyce had you at Loch, right Johnny?” 

When you make eye contact with Jonathan, you notice Steve step between the two of you, looking back at Jonathan. You couldn’t see Steve’s face, but it must have been scary enough that all Jonathan could do to respond was shake his head.

“Hey, Tommy, didn’t you say you had a thing you needed to do,” Steve says, not taking his eyes off Jonathan.

“Uh, yeah, Carol and I need to get to, uh, a dinner with her parents. Right, Carol?”

“Yeah, we better get going. Nice to see you, Chief Hopper….”

The four of them hastily exit the diner. “Oh, yeah, see you around!” His face goes from bright to confused as he watches them leave through the window. 

“What the hell was that?” you laugh, ducking your head into the table. Your dad does the same, eyes as big as yours, “I have no idea. I was just trying to help you make some friends.”

“I think I’ll pass on them, Dad.”

When you return to the cabin later, your dad steps in front of the truck, leaning against the hood. Watching you as you get out, you hesitate, getting out of the truck slowly. “Whaaaat’s that face for?” you ask, suspicious of his glare.

“Oh, you know, I was just thinking that you’re gonna get awfully bored sitting in the cabin all by yourself all day,” he straightens up, rubbing his hand along his stubbly chin.

You’re really confused now. “You said you get TV out here, right? I think I’ll be okay.”

He lifts his hands up in defense, “Alright, alright, you’ve twisted my arm. No need you yell at me and make me feel bad. Here”

You almost miss when he tosses the keys to the truck your way. Looking between him and the keys, you can’t help how wide you smile at the gift. “Dad, oh my god, are you sure?”

He nods his head, mozing a few steps to stand in front of you. “Of course. It’s not a nice new car, but I figured it would help you get around until you could find something you really liked.”

You do a little happy dance before launching yourself at him, giving him a big hug as you thank him over and over. “Thank you so much, dad,” you say, looking up at him. He gives you a good squeeze before you pull away.

Rain pitter pattered softly against the row of windows behind you. Today has been slow, much like the other four days since your first day at Barnes and Noble. Wanting something slow as you get used to being in Hawkins, your dad suggested the bookstore, saying that it wasn’t the most popular place in town. The manager, Bob Newby, hired you on the spot, stating he needed someone over eighteen to train as a manager since the old one left for college. He offered above minimum wage so you accepted. 

While you stood at the computer working on some modules, three teenage boys ran into the store looking like they were on a mission. 

“Hi, I’m Dustin,” one of them greeted you, offering you a hand shake. You oblige, taking his hand in yours as you introduce yourself. “And are my friends Lucas and Will,” he points his thumb over his shoulder to two boys his age. They both wave, looking at you with anticipation. 

“Nice to meet you. Is there something I can help you with?” you look between the three of them.

Dustin perks up, “Ah, yes. As a matter of fact there is fair maiden.”

You physically cringe at the pet name, trying to hide the pain in your face. 

“Oh, sorry,” he corrects, “yeah, we’re looking for the new D&D starter set? It says online that it’s supposed to come out on the 15th, but some Barnes & Nobles have it in stock already.”

You tilt your head in confusion. “A whaty-what set?” you chuckle. The boy's shoulders deflate at your words.

“Never mind, thank you ma’am,” Dustin says, turning to the other two. 

“See, told you they wouldn’t have it yet,” Lucas says to Dustin, “Let’s just try again in a couple days, man.”

“It was at least worth a shot,” Will says shrugging. 

You watch as they make their way towards the exit, feeling bad seeing them so dejected. They’re about to walk out, but stop when a man enters through the doors. Their faces light up, and they greet him with hugs. You don’t mean to eavesdrop, but they’re the only patrons in the store at the moment so it’s pretty much impossible not to hear them.

“Hey, man, welcome back,” Dustin squeals, bouncing with excitement, “How was the trip with the family?”

Out of the corner of your eye, you take in the person they are talking to. The first thing you notice is his hair, a straight out of the 80s Van Halen wannabe cut that you’re sure stopped being in style by the 90s. His outfit seems inspired from the same era as his hair; Leather jacket paired with a denim vest covered in patches and pins reminiscent of metalheads from years ago. The tight, black ripped jeans paired with black combat boots seem to be the only articles of his clothing that were current with today’s fashion. You couldn’t exactly make his face out from the distance, but you could admit that his voice had a certain silkiness as he talked.

“Henderson, Sinclair,” he pauses for a moment,” Byers. Good to see you boys,” the words fell off his tongue, affecting you in a way that they honestly shouldn’t. “We had a pretty good time. Saw some family friends and got to try some good food.”

“Nice, nice,” Dustin nods. He straightens up for a moment, “You’re not here for the starter set are you?”

“I am,” the man responds.

“Shit, so were we. They don’t have it though. The girl doesn’t even know what we're talking about,” he responds defeated.

This is when you get to see the man’s face. And, oh no, he’s hot. Big brown eyes meet yours as he turns in your direction. He’s smiling at first, but the longer he looks at you, the more…confused his face becomes? He fully turns away from the boys, making his way towards you, eyes not leaving yours. The counter being the only thing between you as he leans forward, his eyes flickering between yours. Why the hell does this keep happening?

“Can I help you?” you ask, leaning back a tad. He blinks, straightening up again. 

“Yeah,” he draws out, “I’m looking for a new dungeons and dragons module. It’s a set that comes with a book and a few other items. Have you gotten anything like that in stock recently?”

You go to open your mouth, but his head suddenly snaps to the side. Following his line of sight, you see your coworker, Eden, making her way back from the break room.

“Oh, hey, Eden,” you call, getting her attention. She does a fast walk over to you, giving the man in front of you a once over as he takes her place next to you. “Hey, these guys are looking for something and I don’t really know what they’re talking about.”

She sighs, “What do you want, Munson?”

The man smiles cheekily, “Oh, you know what I’m here for. Just another recommendation for a My Chemical Romance CD to listen to.”

“Fuck off, what are you really here for,” Eden snaps. You let out a giggle at the interaction unfolding in front of you. The man's eyes look to you, and his smile widens to his eyes, showing off his dimples. 

“There’s supposed to be a new Dungeons and Dragons book coming out. Do you have it? Please say you have it,” Lucas steps in front of the man, clearly exasperated as he places his hands on the counter. 

“Oh, yeah your dumb nerd game,” you catch her looking at you before subtly rolling her eyes, “We got a box in the back yesterday but we’re not supposed to put it out until, like, Friday or something.”

She might as well have told them they all won the lottery the way their faces lit up.

“Please, Eden, you gotta let us get one,” Dustin begs, pushing Lucas to the side.

“Yeah, pleeeeeease, Eden,” Will joins in now, pushing between the two other boys, “We promise we won’t tell Bob.”

Eden looks at them for a moment. She looks at you, clearly annoyed, “What do you think?”

Now all eyes are on you, making you feel like a deer caught in the headlights.

“Uh, I mean, one book isn’t going to hurt, right?” you look to Eden, hoping that was the right answer and that this wasn’t a test to keep your job. Her expression is deadpad, until a smirk grows on her face.

“Okay,” she says simply, grabbing a box cutter from under the counter and making her way to the back room. The boys all whoop and holler, following her to the door to wait. 

That leaves you with the man from earlier. With the stress out of the way, you’re able to really take in his features. He was even more attractive up close, impossibly beautiful if you think too much about it. His skin looked smooth, like stone, the sprinkle of little freckles here being the only indicator that he’s not the statue of Adonis dressed in punk attire.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” his head rolls as his attention is returned to you, a knowing smile plastered across his face.

Blush dusts your cheeks when you realize you've been caught ogling. Trying to hide your face in embarrassment, the carpet between your feet is suddenly very interesting. “Sorry,” you say to the floor. There’s a beat of silence. When you look up again, he looks perturbed. “I mean it, I’m sorry for staring…”

Brown eyes lock with yours, features softening as he speaks, “No, no, you’re good, I, just…” he trails off for a moment. Shaking his head, his curls bouncing with the movement, he takes a step closer to the counter. “Sorry, I should probably introduce myself. Name’s Eddie.”

You introduce yourself to him and he playfully looks you up and down, “Shit, you’re Hoppers kid? Probably best if I stay away from you then.”

“Why’s that?” you tilt your head, matching his playful tone.

“I’m not exactly the most favored in this town,” he leans into the counter, and you catch the glint of the ringed fingers on his hand, “Whole family isn’t really cared for. But, I tend to make things worse.”

“Why, do all of you refuse to leave the 80s behind?” you ask as you nod at his hair. He runs his tongue in his bottom lip in an attempt to keep himself from smiling, failing miserably as your eyebrows raise at his silence.

“No,” he taps a finger against the counter before standing up again, “Because they think we’re “freaks” for keeping to ourselves most of the time. Apparently it's a crime not to participate in small town drama.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s like, the first rule of small towns,” the corner of your mouth quirked, “If you don’t wanna be part of the drama, you’re just going to be the drama. Those are the rules.”

“Ah, I see, I must have missed that part of the book when we moved here. My bad.”

You go open your mouth, but Dustin suddenly runs into Eddie at full force with what you presume to be the desired book in hand. 

“Ooowwwwww,” Dustin says rubbing his arm, looking at Eddie with a grimace, “Sheesh, are you wearing armor under your jacket or something?”

Eddie scoffs, moving away from the boy, “No, you’re just soft compared to me, Henderson.” Eddie raises his arm to flex, and you swear you hear a seam burst somewhere in his jacket.

While you ring the boys out, they spend the entire time trying to explain the game to you. There’s an attempt to recruit you into their club, but you decline their offer.

“I promise I would not be fun to play with,” you reassure them.

“Mmmm, I doubt that,” Eddie chimes.

“Don’t listen to him, his only goal is to make us die in the game,” Lucas says.

“That’s not my goal. You guys just always manage to get yourselves killed.”

“Okay, okay,” Eden waves her hands around to get their attention, “I’m tired of hearing all the dork talk. Take your nerd book and go before I change my mind.”

“But I already paid--” Dustin starts.

Eden gives him a look, pointing for the door. The boys jump, scrambling for the door as they say their quick goodbyes. Eddie chuckles as he watches the boys go, turning back to you once they’re out of sight. He goes to say something, but Eden speaks up before he can. 

“Hey, you should probably go take your lunch break now,” she says to you with arms crossed. Her eyes shift over to Eddie, giving him a look.

“Oh, okay,” you nod. Before you go, you turn to Eddie, giving him a warm smile, “It was nice to meet you.”

He returns the sentiments, “Same to you.”

When you walk towards the break room, you look back at the counter, seeing Eddie and Eden talking.

“Hey dad,” you greet as you walk through the front door of the cabin, kicking off your shoes.

“Hey, how was work?” Your dad stands in the kitchen, wearing a pink apron and blaring hard rock from the little radio that hung on the underside of the cabinet. You gawk at him for a moment, before collecting yourself.

“Uh, it was good,” you place your bag on the coat hook, walking over to where he stands in the small kitchen, “What, uh, what are you doing, pops?”

“Oh, I invited the Byers over for dinner,” he said as if it was obvious. Your nose scrunched up at the smell of something burning.

“That’s supposed to be edible?” you ask, peering into the pan, unsure of what you were looking at exactly.

There’s a pause, both of you standing there for a beat. Then he reaches forward to flip off the oven. “I’ll order a pizza.”

The Byers car pulls up just as the pizza guy leaves. You watch as your dad runs around like a mad man picking things up around the cabin. You stop him mid step, grabbing the apron and pulling it over his head. He nods in a silent thanks and continues to run around. The knock on the front door breaks him of his frenzy, practically running to get to the door. It’s actually cute to watch your dad light up when he greets his friend. 

When Joyce lays her eyes on you, she’s instantly squealing and throwing her hands out for an embrace. You wrap her up in a hug that hasn’t changed since you were little. One of the only adults you remember, Joyce was a staple in your life even when your parents were going through their divorce. 

“Oh my god, look at you,” she does that mom thing where she puts her hands on your arms and gives you a good look over, “Goodness you’re so grown up now! I remember watching you when you were just a tiny little girl. Oh, here, you remember Jonathan,” she turns and places a hand on Jonathan’s shoulder. He gives you a one sided smile, not looking at you directly.

“Uh, yeah, we already ran into each other,” he says with a nod.

“And you might remember Will. He’s changed since you’ve seen him, though. He was just a toddler back then.” She moves over to let her other son in, and you’re almost as shocked as he is when you see one of the boys that came in the store earlier. You both give each other a look with a grin.

“Yeah, we’ve ran into each other already, too,” Will says. 

“Oh, good,” Joyce beams, “I guess that means we can save some time and go ahead and eat. Hop, I got some soda on sale at work. Jonathan, do you have the bags?”

Jonathan lifts two bags that have clearly been in his hands the whole time, Will and him looking at each other with a snicker. “Here, mom.”

Dinner consists of Joyce asking you all about living in Arizona, how your mom is, if she likes traveling with her boyfriend, if you’ve made any friends.

“Jonathan, you should see if Steve will let her come to one of your little get-togethers.”

“Mom,” he his brows raise into his bangs as he looks at her, “You know why that’s not a good idea.”

“Oh, come on, you guys can keep yourselves under control for one night,” she says, taking a bite of her pizza slice.

“No, it’s okay,” you chime in, “I don’t want to make anything weird. I don’t think I made a very good first impression with Steve when I first met him.”

Jonathan and Will both sputter out a laugh, and Joyce gives them little smacks on the arms to get them to stop. 

“What’s so funny?” Your dad chuckles with the boys.

“Nothing,” Will says, looking at you, then back to his pizza.

Jonathan straightens up, grin on his face as he speaks, “Um, just want to say Steve, like, doesn’t hate you. He just…ate something bad for breakfast and was in a bad mood or whatever.” 

Will is physically shaking in silent laughter and you feel like you’re missing out on some inside joke between them. Joyce just rolls her eyes, smiling as she mouths a sorry to you. You shake your head, letting her know it’s fine.

“So, Jonathan, Dad tells me you’re getting pretty good at photography?” 

He looks at you surprised, “Y-yeah, yes, yep.”

“Jonathan, tell her about the magazine! Jonathan’s picture was in a magazine,” Joyce gushes.

“One of my pictures is in a magazine,” he says to appease his mother. She grabs his arm and shakes it giddily. 

“It’s actually really good,” your dad says in agreement. Jonathan gives him a quick tight lipped smile, before his eyes meet yours. You mouth sorry and he smiles, eyes shifting down.

“So, Will, did you guys get to play that game,” you change the subject. He looks excited that you asked.

“Oh, no, we didn’t get the chance today. But we’re going to get together this weekend,” he shifts in his seat to face you. 

“That’s cool,” your head bobs cooly, “Does, uh, does Eddie play with you guys?”

There’s a sudden tension in the air, thick enough that a knife could cut it. The Byers are looking between each other, you don’t know if you’ve ever seen Joyce so serious. After a beat, it’s your father’s turn to giggle.

“Awe, come on. Don’t be like that you guys,” he says to the three of them. They remain hard as stone, Will tucking his head into his shoulder. Thinking back to the interaction at work the other day, you realize that Will had never directly interacted with Eddie, sort of standing back as Lucas and Dustin greeted him. 

“What? What is it?”

“Oh, Joyce has some weird beef with the Brenner’s,” your dad dismisses. 

“Ugh, Hop you know that’s not — it’s more complicated than that,” she looks to you. “Just,” she squeezes her eyes shut, breathing out of her nose, “it would be best if you just…don’t get involved with the Brenner’s, okay? Trust me.”

Eddie’s words about the town not being fond of his family came to the forefront of your mind. It had you intrigued as to how bad his family must be if Joyce Byers doesn’t like them. Though you want to press for more, you decide to put a pin in it for now to keep the peace. 

Once it’s just you and your dad again though, you’re immediately pressing him for questions. 

“Okay, so what is this “beef” you said Joyce has with the Brenner’s,” you shout from the bathroom, mouth full toothpaste as you brush your teeth. 

“Honestly, I wish I could tell you,” your dad yells from the front porch as he smokes, “They moved to Hawkins two years ago and Joyce, her boys, and half of Loch Nora seem to hate them. Sure, Eddie can be out of line at times, but the rest of them are tame.” He puts out his cigarette and walks back into the cabin, “ Dr.Brenner works at the hospital practically non-stop. Someone swore he was there for 3 days straight when this bad flu was going around last year. The rest of the family keeps to themselves for the most part. All adopted. Two of them are home schooled, the other two and Eddie are grown. I think one of ‘em is writing for a newspaper or something?”

Spitting and rinsing, you hop over the back of the couch, landing next to your father as he talks, “Half the town ignores them, and the other half claim that they’re monsters or supernatural.”

“Why?” you scrunch your face.

“Depends on who you ask,” he shrugs, sipping from his beer, “According to Joyce they shouldn’t be here. I’ve asked her plenty of times to give her side of the story, but she won't budge. I really respect Brenner, personally. Single guy, adopting and raising five kids on his own, working hard as a doctor to make sure they are taken care of.”

“You’d think Joyce would think highly of a guy like that,” you look up to the ceiling, trying to see what could possibly be the problem that Joyce would have. “Maybe he did something to her and she doesn’t want to say. Or maybe one of the kids did something to Jonathan or Will?”

“If they did something to the boys I know she would tell me. I guess I could see him saying something to her and her maybe taking it out of context. I don’t know, I just do my job and try and stay as unbiased as possible.”

You nod your head. You’re mind is still swirling with questions that you want to ask. But as your dad turns on his trash TV, you know he’s not going to be paying attention to anything you’re asking. So you decide to wait and ask him later.

Finding parking at work today was a nightmare. The entire parking lot in front of the Barnes & Noble was FULL of cars, a mix of classic and sport cars taking up several rows in the normally bare parking spots. Having to park in the very back, you cut through the crowd of people on the way to the building. It was busy, and making your way around ended up being worse than finding parking as half of Hawkins was packed into one place to fawn over cars. There was a bit of a flow that you’d caught on to, so you stuck through it, getting stopped occasionally as the group in front of you paused to gander. 

In one of the stalemates, you looked around for a way to get past the congestion, only to spot a familiar pair of brown eyes looking straight at you from across the lot. He looked exhausted, and you could only assume that he probably didn’t want to be here either. You gave him a small wave, and the frown carved into his face flipped, returning the gesture. You were about to try and make your way over to him, when the sound of a loud engine and horn honking had you turning your head, eyes blinded by light coming straight towards you.

The next thing you knew, you were on the ground, a pain in your rib confirming that you must have been hit. But when you open your eyes, you’re faced with the grill of a car being completely crushed by a…hand? In your shock, you follow the hand, up the arm, and into the same eyes you had seen just a moment ago, suddenly dark, almost black in appearance. Except they weren’t looking at you, they were looking down. Down at the open gash on your arm from the way you’d hit the pavement. 

Taking in a breath, you wince at the pain in your side. You’d expected to have hit your side on the pavement as well, but when you crane your head down, you see Eddie’s other hand gripping right over the pain. 

“Ow,” you say, sucking in a breath as you move slightly. His head snaps, looking up at you when you speak, and the look on his face reads concerned, but he seems frozen in place.

“Holy, shit dude,” a girl appears from behind Eddie, but the way he’s hunched over you obscures your view. You don’t miss the car suddenly moving over a few inches, though, Eddie’s grip loosening at the motion. When your eyebrows knit themselves together, trying to figure out what the hell was happening, Eddie suddenly starts yelling. “Hey, we need an ambulance over here!”

When you arrived at the hospital, you were surprised when the doctor that was assigned to you introduced himself as the infamous Dr. Brenner. He was a grey haired man, most likely in his late 50s or early 60s, with skin like porcelain and a reassuring smile. And most importantly, he had your x-rays in his hand.

“Good news, you’re going to live,” he laughs, flipping all the papers back on your chart, “Bad news is you’re going to live with a rib fracture. I would suggest taking it easy for the next six to eight weeks, take something for pain as needed, and don’t be afraid to slap on a lidocaine patch if it helps. As for your arm,” he looks at the bandage, a little blood soaking through the white, “Clean it well and keep it wrapped. A little antibacterial ointment should do the trick.”

“Thanks Brenner,” your dad sticks out his hand to the man, “I appreciate you getting here to look at her so quickly.”

Brenner takes your dad’s hand, shaking it in return, “Of course, I couldn’t let the police chief’s daughter sit in pain.” He looks over to you, brows creasing slightly before speaking up again, “The two of you are free to go whenever you’re ready. If her pain gets worse or if she hits the rib again, feel free to call me at home and I’ll be over as soon as I can.”

“Wow, thank you.” You’re taken aback at his generosity, looking over to your dad as he gives you a “see I told you he was a nice guy” look. While you gather your things, your dad tells you he’s going to grab the car and meet you at the front doors. 

As you leave the room, you look down the hall and see Eddie leaning up against the wall, chewing on his thumb nail deep in thought. Taking in a deep breath in preparation to approach him, you grab your side, wincing in pain. “Shit,” you breathe out, keeling over a bit. 

A pair of doc’s enters your vision. You lift your head, taking in Eddie’s figure as he’s now stood before you, hands hovering as he looks you over. 

“Are you okay?” his voice sounds panicked, his face twisted as he waits for your answer.

“Yeah, sorry, I’m good,” your voice strained, but you give him a weak smile in reassurance. He nods, hands lowering to disappear into his pockets. His mouth opens and closes a few times, his eyes looking anywhere but directly into yours as he fidgets about. You laugh at his nervousness, deciding to speak first.

“Thank you for saving me.” 

This gets his attention and he’s all teeth as he smiles, “Yeah, of course. I’m, uh, glad you’re okay.”

“I wouldn’t be without you,” you tilt your head, looking at him. You suddenly remember the events that unfolded. Eddie was on the other side of a line of cars, surrounded by droves of people and cars. The smile drops from your face. “How did you get to me so fast?”

“What are you talking about,” he shakes his head, “I was right next to you?”

You look at him incredulously, “What? No you weren’t. You were-”

“No, I was right next to you. When the car came at you, I grabbed you and pulled you out of the way.” The way he spoke to you scared you; a veiled threat with every word. But you wouldn’t let him get away with it.

“Eddie, I know what I saw. The way your hand crushed the front of that car and -- and then it moved-”

The feeling of ice on your lips shocked you, sending goosebumps across your body. Once you registered that the cold sensation was coming from Eddie’s hand over your mouth, an uneasiness takes over your whole body. It felt like he’d been standing in the winter weather, which would be understandable if it was, say, January, and not early August. 

Your hand flew to his wrist, the one attached to your injured arm. His eyes widened, focused on the wrap around your forearm. His throat bobbed, swallowing thickly. Then, he pulled his hand away as quickly as it landed on your lips. Backing away, he looked at you like you were the one to be afraid of. His eyes darted to your arm once more, then back to your eyes before taking off down the hall. He was fast, making a sharp turn at the end of the hall, but you ran after him, determined to get answers. Only, when you reached the turn he was gone.

That night is when the dreams started. Standing in an opening, trees surrounding you at every corner. The constant feeling of eyes on you made you feel small, vulnerable out in the open for the predator to attack. And when it does, all you see of it is its brown eyes.

You wake up in a cold sweat, breathing heavy, you frantically feel around for your phone. The bright screen blinds you when you tap it, through squinted eyes you read 4 am. A knock on your door has you jump.

“Hey, you okay in there?” Your dad’s voice fills you with relief. 

“Yeah, Dad, I’m good. Just a nightmare. Sorry to wake you,” you call to the barely visible door. He gives you an okay and tells you goodnight. You lie there awake until the sun comes up.

“Oh my god, that’s crazy!” Heather’s hand flies over her mouth as she pushes your cup across the tiny counter. “So you think his hand, like, broke your freaking rib?”

“I don’t know,” you grab the cup, taking a small sip, “It may have been a coincidence, but I could feel his fingers digging into my side, so it definitely wasn’t from hitting the pavement.”

“But you said he was all the way across the lot, that makes no sense,” Barb questions, wiping her hands on her green apron. 

You flail your arm up in an exaggerated shrug, “I know! He said he was next to me the whole time but I know he was over in G4 and I was in the F5 section. You guys saw all the people from in here, there’s no way he should have been able to get to me that quickly.”

“Ooohh, maybe the rumours are true then,” Heather wiggles her fingers at Barb, eliciting an eye roll from the red head. 

“You just want the rumours to be true because you’re obsessed with that True Blood show,” Barb says with a snide, teasing tone.

“What does True Blood have to do with the rumours?” When you ask, the two of them look at each other with  knowing grins.

“Oh you haven't heard?” Heather starts. “Everyone thinks the Brenner’s are a bunch of vampires or something.”

“Or something,” you parrot back, looking at her through squinted eyes. You knew most people in the midwest believed in some kind of cryptid or skinwalker, so you’d learned to take everything with a grain of salt when it came to small town gossip. 

“I keep telling her they come out in the day so they can’t be vampires,” Barb explains, “but she won’t believe me.”

“Okay, but, like, have you seen them?” Heather looks at you with raised brows. 

“I’ve only seen Eddie and Dr.Brenner,” you rub your hand over your still bandaged arm.

“Girl, okay,” Heather starts, placing her hands on the counter to lean in closer to you, “so like Eddie. Super hot, obvi. Dr.Brenner? Hot for an old dude, right? And I don’t even swing that way, but the two girls, Nancy and Robin, they’ll have you questioning things. They’re dating though from what I’ve heard,” she sighs, cheek landing in her palm. 

“Wait, the sisters are dating?” You looked at her, appalled by the insinuation of her words.

“They’re not siblings?” Heather looks at you funny. “Well, Nancy and one of the younger ones apparently are blood related. I think someone said that Robin isn’t adopted and that she just lives with them. Like a live-in girlfriend or whatever.”

You nod, trying to make sense of the weird family dynamic. Before Heather can continue on, the chime of the entrance door opening alerts you to a customer entering the store. Even though you were on your break, muscle memory took over as you turn on your heels to greet them, “Hi! Welcome to Barnes and…”

Eddie Munson himself walks in through the door, booking it straight for the games section without a passing glance. You stand there in dumb struck silence. When you look back at Barb and Heather, they give you “shit we were almost caught” looks on their faces, and it has all three of you laughing. 

“Oh, hey,” Heather motions you closer, “There’s gonna be a big party at Lover’s Lake on Friday. You should totally come. It’s on the Loch Nora side, but you can park by the lake houses and walk over.”

“Um, sure,” you accept, feeling excited at the prospect of making better friends with some of the people in town your age.

“Great,” Heather claps, a mischievous smile on her face. She wiggles her brows at you suggestively, “Make sure you bring your best swim suit, there’s going to be lots of Loch Nora boys there. I heard Steve Harrington is single again-”

“Small black coffee, please.” All three of you jump. Eddie was standing at Barb’s counter. None of you heard him walk up, as if he had appeared out of thin air. “Can I pay for this here?” He shakes a book that says something about monsters, a large creature on the front with a big eye. His face is stone, almost annoyed as he waits for Barb to ring him out. When he pays, he finally looks over at you, and you realise you’d been staring at him the whole time. 

You almost miss the way his eyes flash to your arm as he passes by. His intense stare makes you turn to hide your arm from his view. His nose flares when you do, brow creasing. But when his eyes meet yours, honey brown as if being hit by the non existing sunlight, his face softens. An almost pleading look to him. Like he wanted to talk to you, but wouldn’t. And as soon as Heather places his coffee on the counter, he’s booking it out the door. 

“What was that-” was all you heard Heather say, your feet moving on their own as you stepped out into the humid August air. He was already in the middle of the parking lot in the time it took you to get out the door.

“Eddie, hey! Wait a minute!”

He stopped in his tracks, back still turned to you. You stare right into the monster on his “Dio” patch as you approach him. Grabbing his arm, you go to spin him around but find it hard to get him to budge. Instead, he turns to you on his own, stone faced, waiting for you to speak.

“What the hell was that about back there?” You pant as you try to catch your breath. “Are you avoiding me or something?”

His body stiffens at your words, eyes narrowing, “What if I am?”

You blink at him, “I — I just want to know why, I guess?”

He stands there in silence, statuesque with an inhuman stillness. Getting tired of the stare off, you decide to just say your peace. “Listen, I know I’m not crazy. I don’t really care at this point the how or the why of what happened that day. Whether it was adrenaline, my memory being foggy, or-or whatever. You saved my life, and…and that’s what really matters. So, thank you.”

You watch his face ease into amusement, apples of his cheeks pressing lines into the creases of his eyes at your words. God he has a cute smile. 

“Okay,” is all he says, his eyes look you up and down. He seems to open up, body fully facing you now. 

“Okay,” you say with a smile. There’s a pregnant pause, the two of you just looking at each other for a moment until a drop of rain hits your nose. 

Both of you look up, and you can tell rain is about to fall. 

“Hey,” you try and talk quickly, wanting to get the words out before it starts pouring, “my coworker, Heather, she, um, said there’s going to be a party at Lover’s Lake Friday. N-not like a date, or anything. Uh, just, maybe we could start over. Trying to be friends…” You were kicking yourself on the inside for being so lame, “It’s on the Loch Nora side, but she said it should be easy to find. You, um, you should come?”

His head drops, shaking back and forth, but his smile remains. 

“I’ll think about it,” he says when he looks at you again. Taking a step back as the rain begins to fall, he nods towards the building behind you, “Better get inside, don’t want you to catch a cold.”

“O-oh, right,” you look behind you, and then back to him, but he’s already gone.

thank you for reading!

[pascaloverx]

BABYBOY

Summary: You work as a caretaker for the home and dog of a famous individual in a luxurious apartment. On a fateful day, you find yourself in dire need of help when your boss’s dog gets locked inside the apartment. The newest neighbor, an incredibly handsome man, comes to your rescue. That man is none other than Nicholas Alexander Chavez.How will your relationship with him unfold?

Author's Note: This fanfic is for those who’d love to imagine themselves in a romance with Nicholas Chavez. I should warn you that there’s a possibility the reader might get involved with Nicholas while he’s still in a relationship with someone else, though nothing is set in stone yet. This fanfic will include explicit language and mature content. Consider yourselves warned. I hope you like it and interact with the story!

preview two

ONE

Days had gone by, marked by near encounters that, to an unbothered observer, would seem like mere coincidences but were deliberately orchestrated by you. Despite your subtle efforts, you hadn’t crossed paths with Nicholas again. Deep down, you told yourself it was for the best. Surely, he had a girlfriend or someone he was interested in, and, honestly, he was far out of your league. Your focus had shifted to repairing both your boss’s apartment door and your relationship with Baby, his dog. Baby, however, seemed utterly smitten with the handsome neighbor, barking excitedly at his door every time you returned from a walk.

Now, with Baby dropped off at an elite doggy daycare where he socialized with other pampered pooches and underwent obedience training, you had a few hours to yourself. Your routine included tidying the apartment, even though a housekeeper came by every three days to give it a thorough clean. With a new bag of premium dog food in hand, music blaring through your headphones, you couldn’t help but dance as you moved about the apartment. Rosé and Bruno Mars’ APT filled your ears, and you struggled to resist belting out the lyrics at the top of your lungs—especially since you didn’t want to draw the attention of a certain neighbor.

Everything was going smoothly until your uncoordinated moves betrayed you. Your sneaker laces snagged beneath your feet, and you stumbled forward, bracing for the worst. In the split second before disaster struck, your only thought was to save the dog food bag from bursting open. Then, a strong, muscular arm caught you, steadying you just before you hit the ground.

“You’re going to go deaf listening to music that loud,” Nicholas quipped, his tone laced with amusement. Before you could fully process what had happened, you found yourself stepping out of his firm grasp as he plucked one side of your headphone from your ear. He’s wearing a robe, slightly untied, revealing his bare chest—a detail that momentarily captures your attention.

“Thank you for the assist, Nicholas. But I must insist you stop helping me. I can’t afford to owe you any more coffees than I already do,” you say, straightening yourself and trying to regain composure. He smiles, a genuine expression that softens his striking features as he watches you intently. There’s something disarming about the way his eyes linger, making you feel both seen and slightly flustered. You take a step back instinctively, as though wary of being so close to him. The proximity between you moments ago had felt electric, almost overwhelming, and a small part of you wonders if he felt it too.

“Would you have preferred that I let you crash to the floor?” Nicholas asks, his tone playful yet dangerously charming.

Caught off guard, you fumble for a response. “Perhaps,” you say, trying to sound serious but only managing to appear slightly awkward. “At this rate, I’ll start feeling like you’re my loan shark.”

He chuckles, his eyes glinting with amusement. “I had a feeling you already felt that way, considering how you’ve been avoiding me.”

Your breath hitches, and you try to recover, pointing to yourself as though the accusation couldn’t possibly apply to you. “Me? Avoiding you? Absolutely not. I was just… maintaining a safe distance.” The words spill out hastily, but your voice betrays you, trembling under the weight of his presence.

He takes a deliberate step forward, his robe shifting slightly to reveal more of his defined chest, and his neatly styled, damp hair gleams under the light. His confidence radiates with an intensity that makes your pulse quicken. “Safe from what?” he asks, his tone laced with curiosity and challenge. “Are you afraid of me, Y/N?”

“Afraid of you?” You scoff, feigning a boldness you don’t quite feel. “As if.” But the truth lingers unspoken—a fear not of him, but of the undeniable pull he exerts over you, the way his presence stirs emotions you aren’t ready to face.

Nicholas leans in slightly, his voice dropping into a softer, almost teasing tone. “Because, from where I stand, it feels like you’re running from something.” His words strike a chord, making you painfully aware of the wall at your back and the impossibility of escape. You’ve cornered yourself, both literally and metaphorically, and the intensity in his gaze is unraveling every ounce of composure you have left.

"I'm running away from trouble; you should consider doing the same. Let's be practical—you live here, and I work here. You're clearly already well-accompanied, and I’m in a professional environment that requires me to remain alone most of the time. And I saw you without clothes, which makes it hard for me to be completely friendly without remembering what happened. It’s best if we keep our distance and remain strangers," you say, trying to sound firm as you lean back against the wall. Your headphones are still playing some song, but you can barely focus on it, your attention completely fixed on Nicholas’s gaze.

"I starred in a series called General Hospital. Great cast, and my family was really proud of me for landing the role—it shaped me into the actor I am today. I also did a pretty funny movie called Crushed. Filming it was a blast, especially a scene where I nearly had a make-out session with an orange. Right now, I’m preparing for another series, which I think will be an incredibly enriching experience. But I’m not extremely famous or rich. Moving here was a treat to myself, courtesy of my latest role and some old savings."

"As for being accompanied," Nicholas continues, his tone softening but maintaining a confident edge, "you’ve clearly noticed more about me than you let on. And to answer your assumption—yes, I am seeing someone. But there are no labels, and we’re not exclusive. So now that I’ve shared a bit about my life, are you going to stop hiding behind excuses and admit that you really want to have coffee with me?"

As he steps closer, trapping you in place with his presence, you swallow hard, processing his words while trying to ignore the sudden heat rising in your chest. "I have a feeling we’re no longer just talking about coffee," you reply, your voice carrying a hint of defiance as you meet his gaze.

"Since you’ve been on Grey’s Anatomy, I’d wager your bank account is fatter than mine. So here’s the deal—wait for me in your apartment in five minutes. I’ll make the coffee, using your coffee machine," you respond with a confident chuckle, leaving Nicholas momentarily speechless.

"Bold of you to invite yourself over to make coffee in my apartment, but I’ll allow it. And it was General Hospital, not Grey’s Anatomy, but you got the idea." Nicholas steps back, giving you room to enter your boss's apartment. Just as you’re about to turn away, he adds with a playful smirk, "Five minutes. Don’t make me wait too long."

"Don't worry, I’ll be punctual. And no need to wait for me shirtless or anything—I’d still recognize you fully dressed. Though, it’s your house, your rules. If you feel like putting on another striptease, be my guest," you say, winking mischievously and flashing a sly smile, still facing him as you back toward the door of your boss’s apartment.

Nicholas, who had already opened the door to his own apartment, steps toward you. "Only if this time you join me," he says, lowering his face slightly to meet your gaze, his breath warm against your skin as your heart threatens to leap out of your chest.

"Nicholas, Nicholas, Nicholas," you reply, holding his gaze, "don’t make offers you might regret later." A single step from either of you would close the gap between your lips, but neither dares to move. It’s too soon, you tell yourself, convincing your mind that perhaps he doesn’t even want to kiss you—that you’re imagining things. Yet, the undeniable tension in the air would be obvious to anyone.

He clears his throat, breaking the moment, and steps back, muttering, "I’ll be waiting," as he retreats into his apartment. You don’t respond, still caught in the whirlwind of thoughts about how much you wanted to know the taste of his lips. Only when the weight of the dog food bag starts straining your arms do you snap out of it, grab the apartment key, and step inside, all the while wondering how on earth you’re going to have coffee with Nicholas without throwing yourself at him.

[theleathercareco]

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[luxury-leather]

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[xaviers-student-union]

Hey guys it's that time of the month

That's right, the time of the month where I take my dad's credit card and buy you guys whatever you ask for. [ so long as its not illegal.]

As usual:

- The money isn't traceable by my father

- This won't have legal ramifications, it's money he gave to me

- He's an Anti-Mutant Billionare running for a political office or some shit. So every month everyone in the X-mansion, and anyone else who sees this, can place orders from me. I like wasting his money.

- For every dollar I spend, I match it and donate to a Mutant positive charity.

So far:

- Aranza: New paint supplies, an easel, and other tools [ she didn't ask but I'm doing it anyway] and Hedgehog care supplies

- Deanne: New jewellery, medical textbooks, sports equipment, and a new laptop

- Molly: New fairytale books, 150 Jellycats, Club room materials, a megaphone, winter clothes, Halloween decorations, a clipboard, Polaroid camera, and an inflatable hamster ball.

She also requested silly string but I have veto'ed that.

- Megan: new book bag, stationary, sanrio "stuff", wing warmers

- Sativa: Beads, wing warmers, new dresses, accessories

- Reaper- Skateboard and cat toys

- Nod - Office decor, $100 donation

- Pyxis - New mountain bike, New winter coat, $50 donation

- Scott- Wood carving supplies, 50 cases of waterbottles, and top of the line New kitchen utensils.

- Mihai - Ps5, and a new laptop

- Kurt - Repair the trapeze. While I'm at it I'm going to get new equipment for the gymnasium in general.

- Rogue - Cat toys [ according to Google that's the best thing for a gator] and new romance novels.

- Negasonic Teenage Warhead : 2x giant 12 ft tall skeletons, costumes for the skeletons , a giant kuromi plush

- Yukio: several pieces of limitied sanrio merch, giant hello kitty plush.

- Eel: Luxury Yacht + hoverboard wheelchair

- Logan - New motorcycle + a helmet. Get fucked logan.

- Forget-me-not - New baking supplies, and equipment.

Lina- New bass strings, and a donation of 100k [ she didn't ask for this but I decided I wanted to donate extra in her name]

Emma - New lipstick in her favourite shade

- laurya- a bunch of cool rocks [ @goddess-of-birds ]

Phantom - Broadway year pass, compression gloves [ @phantom-x ]

Valentine - Designer outfitt [ @valentine-vuong ]

Vanessa - 50 sets of winter clothes for kids, and a large donation to the chosen charity.

Tagging relevant people [ let me know if you don't want to be tagged]

@jeangrey-xmen

@roguefromthexmen

@remy-lebeau

@wolverineofficial

@deadpoolsmeanestally

@dead-in-the-pool

@professorcharlesx

@scottsummers-xmen

@hankmccoyhere

@reapers-graveyard

@totally-not-a-mutant

@vanessa-howlett

@pyxis-deliveryservices

@a-trip-and-a-fall

@thebesttelepath

@forgotten-x-men

@just-a-mutant

@prettyplasma8

@blue-man-group-reject

@queenofthetempest

There's...so many people to tag so I'm going to stop here. If I missed you it wasn't intentional.. - J.🕯

[ no limit on price as long as its reasonable]

[doctoruncle2013]

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[macbethsymphony]

The Swordsman and the Blacksmith | Chapter 23

Roronoa Zoro x Reader

Chapter wc: 2.5k

Chapter rating: SFW

Content/Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Fem!Reader, Enemies to lovers, SLOW slow burn, Eventual smut

Summary: Your skills as a blacksmith have made you desirable to both the government and pirates. You know you have to leave this island if you want to escape your fate, but that doesn't make the choice of leaving any easier. Roronoa Zoro is intrigued by your skills as a blacksmith. Your work is like nothing he's ever seen before. Unfortunately, you're hot-headed and he's rude and you both definitely hate each other.

Chapters [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9][10][11][12][13][14][15][16][17][18][19][20][21][22]

Masterlist

Slowly crossposting from AO3

Chapter 23: The Storm

As you extinguished the fires of your forge, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of satisfaction mixing with the deep exhaustion plaguing your muscles. This marked the end of a relentless cycle, a ceaseless endeavor of reforging and improving the damaged parts of the Thousand Sunny. With each swing of the hammer and every molten weld, you had poured your sweat and determination into the task. Now, as the final embers flickered and died, you knew that you had done all you could for the repairs. What remained would have to rest in Franky's capable hands.

Leaving the warmth of the forge behind, you stepped out into the cool, humid air, raindrops cascading down from the darkened sky above. You’d actually always thought you liked rain, with its soothing patter and calm atmosphere, but this incessant deluge had begun to wear on your nerves. The constant dampness seeped into your clothes, clinging to you like an unwelcome companion, making it all harder to scrub the ashes from your skin. You didn’t pretend that your hair was ever that well kept, but now your locks rebelled in unruly tangles, a testament to the relentless onslaught of moisture. Oh, how you missed dry socks, a distant luxury you could only dream of amidst the sodden landscape.

With a heavy sigh, you cast a weary glance towards the sky, the dark clouds serving as a somber reminder of the unending challenges that still lay ahead. The rain had become a hindrance, impeding yours and Franky’s progress in repairing the ship. You constantly had to move tarp after tarp, erect tent after tent and still, you battled the puddling water. Yet, despite the frustrations and setbacks, you pressed on, the crew driven by a determination to set out to sea once again.

With a swift motion, you swept aside the heavy waxed canvas of the tent before you, revealing Franky and Usopp diligently at work within.

“Oh! Firecracker!” The enthusiastic voice of the cyborg greeted you as you let the bag in your hands fall to the floor with a clang. “Is that the last of it?”

“Damn right it is,” you replied proudly, a surge of satisfaction coursing through you.

Usopp rummaged through the bag, examining the contents with keen interest. “Impressive,” he remarked, holding up a piece of black metal between his fingers. “I can’t believe how quickly you work. We would have been stuck here for months without you.”

A blush crept up your cheeks, accompanied by a bashful smile at the unexpected praise. “Just doing my part,” you chuckled, unable to hide the warmth in your tone.

Franky stood up, his massive hand reaching out to ruffle your hair affectionately. “You’ve done more than just help, Firecracker. You've been a lifesaver,” he declared, his voice filled with genuine gratitude. “Take a breather. You've earned it.”

You snorted, a wry smile playing on your lips as you rolled your shoulder, attempting to alleviate the tension knotted in your back. "I wish," you sighed, the weariness evident in your tone, "but I still have a stubborn swordsman to assist."

As you spoke, a gust of wind blew through the open tent flap, carrying with it the sound of crashing waves and the faint scent of salt in the air. You glanced out at the turbulent sea, your gaze traveling to the shore where you could almost see the outline of the swordsman’s silhouette meditating over Yokubari. Even from afar, you could sense the occasional shifts in the sword’s behavior.

Franky and Usopp exchanged a knowing look before turning their attention back to you. "You'll need all the help you can get with that one," Franky remarked, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Usopp nodded in agreement. "Yeah, Zoro can be a handful when he sets his mind to something."

You chuckled, a mix of exasperation and fondness coloring your tone. "Tell me about it," you replied, shaking your head. "But he's determined, I'll give him that."

With a resigned sigh, you straightened up, the ache in your muscles a constant reminder of the physical toll the past two weeks had taken on you. But despite the fatigue, you knew there was still work to be done, repairs to complete, and a stubborn swordsman to assist.

“Let me know if you need anything else,” you called back, arm holding the flap of the tent open.

As you stepped out, you observed Zoro from a distance, a sense of unease gnawing at your insides. You watched the swordsman grapple with Yokubari’s sheathed form with developing apprehension. If you were honest, he surpassed your expectations, demonstrating remarkable proficiency with the sword, yet his relentless pursuit of mastery bordered on obsession, an obsession that sent a chill through your veins.

It took everything in you to stop yourself from taking your sword back. Despite your reservations, you knew you had to trust him. He had exhibited a similar fervor with Shiawase and Uragiri, reveling in the precarious edge of danger. It was a trait that both intrigued and unsettled you, a constant battle between admiration and concern. But you couldn’t help but worry that he might not emerge victorious from this fight, for history had proved Yokubari untamed by hands other than its creator.

You crossed the gangplank, your boots sinking into the wet sand as you approached him. The two of you had devoted every morning and evening to this endeavor since arriving on the island. His diligence was commendable, tirelessly training from dawn till dusk to grasp at the sword’s essence.

Although, at first you had had to intervene occasionally, prying the sword out of his hands, he’d eventually figured out where to draw the line when handling the steel. Your gaze met his and with a content smile, now that you were in his vicinity, he finally unsheathed Yokubari. You observed as he worked with the blade’s haki, trying to understand its unsteady rhythm, sync with it.

“Any progress?” you asked as he wrestled with a sudden surge of haki emanating from the sword.

You watched as he grappled for control. He was close. You bet he’d get it before you’d set sail again. As it became too much, he quickly let go, the steel sinking in the sand.

“It’s stubborn,” he grunted as he bent down to retrieve the blade.

You hummed in consideration as you witnessed the obstinate waves radiating from the black metal, its satisfaction in the command it exerted over the swordsman. “That would be an understatement,” you answered with a chuckle, your gaze moving back to him. “But you’re lucky, it seems to like you, swordsman. Care to tell me which part you’re struggling with today?”

“It’s like trying to reason with a wild animal,” he observed through gritted teeth, the waltz between the sword’s will and his own starting again.

Your heart sank at his words, recollections of the sword’s creation passing your mind. A wild animal… you supposed you hadn’t that far away from one in that time. You felt your nose prickle slightly as tears threatened to flood your eyes for a sliver of a moment. For an instant you hovered on the edge of memories you didn’t want to address, the menace of an ocean of feelings with no shore in sight.

Shit.

The exhaustion was really starting to get to you.

You scrunched your nose, trying to make the feeling disappear. You suppressed a heavy sigh, forcing a smile, masking the turmoil churning within. “That’s a… surprisingly good comparison.”

Zoro’s gaze flickered to you, sensing the weariness in your tone, but Yokubari quickly demanded his attention again with a sudden and powerful surge of haki, drawing his own out in a battle of wills.

You analyzed the conflict happening between the steel and the swordsman with keen eyes, trying to see how you could help him.

“You don’t have to reason with it, you know, Yokubari will always do what it wants,” you observed the complex waltz of haki before you. “You wouldn’t try to reason with the sea, instead you ride the waves, work with it the best you can.”

Your hand reached towards the blade slowly, extending your own haki to the mix, a third party to the battle raging on. The swordsman’s gaze widened slightly as he watched the way the black tendrils emanating from your hands rode out the waves, played with them, eventually made them submit and retract.

As your fingertips brushed against the steel, a shiver of reaction ran through Zoro. With a definite flinch, he pulled the sword back, his motion carrying a hint of possessiveness. Your breath caught in your throat at his response, your heart seemed to stop, then all you could hear was its terrified pulse. You hesitated, afraid to lift your gaze, fearful of what you might find reflected in his eye.

As you met his gaze, a wave of panic hit your senses, your muscles tensed. You knew that look in his eye. You’d seen it mirrored in the eyes of lesser men. Maddened men. Dead men. It sent a cold sensation in the pit of your stomach, your blood freezing in your veins.

“Give it back,” you demanded suddenly, your voice feeling distant, a hiss through clenched teeth.

“What?” He scowled, something akin to greed passing his stare. His hand inched away ever so slightly at the demand, his reaction a confirmation of your fears.

“I said give it back,” you took a step closer, panic in your eyes, the snarl twisting your mouth uncompromising. You opened and closed your hands in a futile attempt to rein in the trembling plaguing them.

“No,” he matched your step, back straight as he towered over you. His grip tightened around the handle of the sword, an unmistakable possessive gesture.

It was a gesture that struck a chord of familiarity within you, one that stirred discomfort in the depths of your being. Almost involuntarily, you superimposed the image of your mentor onto the swordsman’s stance, a haunting resemblance that wrenched your heart painfully. You sucked in a sharp breath, attempting to fend off the encroaching wave of panic threatening to overwhelm you.

Your jaw clenched, the grinding of teeth an audible testament to the turmoil raging within you. So, this was how it was going to be. The instinct to fight surged within you, overpowering any semblance of restraint. The audacity of his refusal fueled an inferno of anger, coursing through your veins like molten metal, consuming every ounce of judgement in its path.

"Give me back my fucking sword, swordsman," you spat, the words laced with venom.

A derisive scoff escaped his lips, his arrogance infuriatingly palpable. “I’m this close to figuring it out, witch. You’re not taking it back now.”

Your nostrils flared, the urge to throttle him almost overwhelming. "You think you're invincible don’t you, pirate hunter?" you seethed, your voice rising with each word. "But you're not. You're just a fool trying to wield a weapon you clearly don't deserve. Face it, you’re too fucking weak for Yokubari. So. Give. It. Back."

As soon as the words left your mouth, you knew you’d messed up, but rationality had long fallen victim to the glacial frigidity of your fears. His eye flashed dangerously, the air crackling with the intensity of the brewing storm between you. "I'm not too fucking weak," he growled, his grip on the sword tightening further, the wood creaking. “You’re the one in the way of me figuring it out.”

There were ghosts that passed your eyes for a moment, sorrow, rage. “You’re a damn fool Roronoa Zoro,” your voice was thick, the snarl on your lips bitter. “Thinking you can tame Yokubari like that. It’ll devour you whole before you even realize it.”

His gaze narrowed at your words, his jaw set in defiance. "I don't need your warnings, witch," he retorted, his tone laced with stubborn determination.

Your fists clenched at your sides, nails digging into your palms as frustration boiled within you. "You're playing with fire, Swordsman," you warned one last time.

He crouched low, his eye ablaze. "I'll master Yokubari on my own terms, whether you approve or not. Stop getting in my way.”

Before restraint could rein in your reaction, your hand surged forward, aiming for his face. But he intercepted it with lightning reflexes, his grip clamping around your wrist painfully, thwarting the blow.

 "You're being a real fucking cunt, swordsman," you snapped, frustration lacing your tone. Without hesitation, your foot followed, connecting solidly with his shin, eliciting a sharp hiss of pain from him.

 His hold slackened, allowing you to back away. "Damn it," he muttered, the pain evident in his voice.

You weighed your options quickly, wondered if you could be fast enough to retrieve Yokubari from his iron grasp. But the possessiveness in his gaze froze you in place.

"You want to figure it out alone? Fine." Your words hung heavy in the air, dripping with condescension. With a quick turn on your heels, you strode away, each step purposeful, yet laden with unresolved tension. "Just don't come crying to me when you lose yourself along the way!" Your voice echoed across the ship as you ascended the gangplank with determined stomps. "I just hope you fall on Yokubari and die before you go mad. For both our fucking sake."

Crossing the deck, you made your way back to where Franky and Usopp were diligently working. With a forceful motion, you pushed open the flap of the tent, your gaze ablaze with rage as it met the two men hard at work.

"Franky," your tone was terse, cutting through the air like a blade. "You don’t need me anymore, right?" you asked, your words tinged with a sense of urgency.

He responded with a small huh of confusion. "Nah, Firecracker, Usopp and I will be fine. Why?" His brow furrowed in curiosity.

You didn’t offer a reply, a determined 'good' slipping past your lips as you turned away, your resolve palpable.

"Nami," you shouted, her name loud in the damp air. "I’ll be in town for a while. Come get me if you need anything."

The navigator popped her head out of her study, a puzzled expression crossing her features. "Sure thing, (y/n)," she called back, concern lacing her tone. "Is everything alright?"

You grunted in response, striding purposefully towards the women’s quarters. "Fucking fantastic," you yelled, the frustration evident in your voice as you slammed the door shut behind you.

You swiftly packed a bag, hastily gathering what you deemed necessary before emerging once more, the weight of your decision settling heavily on your shoulders.

As you made your way back down the gangplank, you sensed the curious gazes of your crewmates following you, their concerned whispers touched your ears like the distant murmur of waves against the shore. You passed the swordsman, still engrossed in his relentless battle with Yokubari. When you saw him look at you in the periphery of your vision, you flipped him off, before finally reaching the small path that led to the quiet town nestled not too far away.

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Masterlist