Entry for Fanfiction Royale.
All scenes based off verses of Greensleeves.

Niall Horan was a powerful man. He had only one weakness; Mary Anne.


1. Alas, my love, you do me wrong.



Alas, my love, you do me wrong,

To cast me off discourteously.

For I have loved you well and long,

Delighting in your company.




   His eyes followed her around the room. He couldn’t keep his eyes off of her. The way she ran her hands through her sandy brown hair as it fall in waves in front of her eyes. The way her hips swung under the tight emerald fabric of her dress to the beat of the music. The way she picked up her feet as she walked across the room. The way her hand reached across the bar. The way her fingertips brushed against his as he handed her the glass of scotch. The way she smiled and shoved a few bills in his hands and into the tip jar.

   His hand closed around her wrist.

   Her amber eyes widened and he smirked at her. He traced his eyes slowly from her hand up to her arm and across her collarbone. His eyes landed on her face; taking in the curve of her lips as they formed an ‘oh’.

   “Scotch got a name?” He asked. She blushed, so faintly he could barely see it under the dark lights of the club.

   “If you want a name…” She smirked back at him, the devilish grin on her lips. She looked him up and down. “You’re going to have to work for it.” She turned to walk away, but the bartender held fast to her arm. She looked back at him, her eyes opened wide again and she trailed her eyes up his arm and locked eyes with him. With his blue eyes sparkling, he smirked one more time and lifted his hand off of hers. She walked away and disappeared into the crowd.

   “Ay mate.” The bartender leaned over the counter to catch the name of a burly man who hadn’t moved all night. The man turned toward him and grunted to show he was listening. “Who is she?” He jerked his head toward the brunette he just watched go into the crowd.

   “On it boss.” The burly man stood up and disappeared into the crowd into after the girl. The bartender took a rag and began cleaning the countertops. Another man, slimmer than the last, sat down across from him. Without a word the bartender poured him a single shot of vodka. The man raised his glass in thanks and down the shot.

   “Why do you do it?” he asked. The bartender looked up and with another smirk through the glass on the ground behind him where is shattered into a million pieces. The man looked at the bartender with a look of alarm.

   “Because I can. And I want to.” He smirked. The man nodded and turned away to chat to a blonde that the bartender had seen several times during the last week. The bartender turned toward another pretty girl at the bar.

   “Clean that up.” He grunted. The girl jumped to her feet and began doing as the bartender told her. His eyes grazed over her tight, black bandage dress and the way it barely covered her ass.

   “Like what you see Mr. Horan?” She purred, throwing the pieces of broken glass into a trash bin. He raised his lip in disgust and shoved her back over the counter.

   “Not nearly enough.”

   “Boss.”  The bartender turned as the burly man approached the bar. “I got it.”

   “Got what?” Horan asked. “Be more specific.”

   “I know who she is.” The burly man looked all too pleased with himself and the bartender rolled his eyes. Here was a grown man in front of him acting like a puppy who finally learned not to shit on the floor.

   “Are you going to tell me Thompson or are you going to sit there trying not to piss yourself?” Horan pierced his bodyguard with a hard stare. Thompson motioned for a beer and Horan rolled his eyes before getting him one. “Talk.”

   Thompson took a long swig of his Guinness and Horan drummed his fingers against the bar top impatiently. At last, Thompson spoke.

   “She said her name was Mary Anne Tailor. She’s a student; studies philosophy or some shit.”

   Horan, the bartender, let his eyes trail over her body as she danced to the beat of the house music. He nodded at her when he caught her eye. He was surprised when she smiled back at him; he was sure that she would have ignored him. He couldn’t help it when his lips curled into a smirk. Although she didn’t know it, he was the most powerful man in the city. He scratched his chin as he watched her dance with a gaggle of her stuffy looking friends.

   “Somethin’ catchin’ yer eye mate?” Thompson downed his fourth beer of the evening.

   “Ye could say that.” Horan narrowed his eyes and nodded his head at Mary Anne.

   “Want me to get her for ye?” Thompson was already on his feet, ready to go. Horan thought about it. Once she knew he was, she wouldn’t leave her. She knew he could do things that’d make her want to burn her eyes out. She had eyes too pretty to be burned out.

   “Wait til she’s alone.” He decided after another few minutes of watching her dance. She was going to make her way toward him again. Her drink had been empty for quite some time now and she had been to his club several times over the past few weeks, always in the same emerald dress, he knew her patterns well enough to know that she would be coming toward him at any moment; ready for a scotch on the rocks.

   There she was. Her eyes wide and sparkling; her hair is sweaty streaks across her face and shoulders. She opened her mouth but the drink was already being poured. She accepted it with a gracious smile. She had nice teeth.

   “Here ye are…Mary Anne.” Her name tasted like sugar on his tongue. He delighted in the way it sounded in his mouth, the way the sounds curved perfectly to the curve of his cheeks and the way it echoed off the back of his teeth and the way her name sounded like a praise when it flowed through his lips. Her eyes found his, and she locked onto them; staring deep into their depths.

   “How’d you know my name?” Mary Anne asked. Her head titled to the left. He liked the sound of her voice; smooth like velvet and light like chiffon. It was as if every word of her sentence was a note in a song.

   “I have my ways.” He smiled at the way she nodded with every word he said. The way she acted as if she was a child and he was telling her the greatest secret on Earth. She was a happy drunk; he liked happy drunks.

   “Can I get your name then?” She asked, taking a long sip of her scotch. He gave her the good scotch, the top-shelf stuff, and of course, he didn’t charge her. He was too enamored for that. He looked her dead in the eyes.

   “Niall.” He said finally; hardly more than a whisper. “Niall Horan.”

   “That’s a fun name.” Mary Anne giggled and pushed her glass back to him. He knew he had lost her. She was far from gone. There was no time for fun games now, he had to act quickly. He didn’t try to hold her back like he had earlier in the night. He watched as she shimmed her way back into the crowd. Her emerald dress was the light in the dark.

   Thompson coughed beside him.

   “Boss?” Niall nodded.

   “Go get her.” He took his rag and cleaned his already gleaming countertops. He watched with an eagle’s eye as Thompson approached her. No doubt he was inviting her out back to see some imaginary dog. From there Niall could only imagine what would happen between here and one of the many homes he owned. He let Mary Anne slip from his mind as he sorted out the rest of the people in his small club. He grew more excited at last call came close. Soon…they would be together.

   Four in the morning had never come sooner.

   He cleared out the club. As soon as the last of his customers had left he was out the door. Gone into the night. He sped through the streets; no one would dare pull him over. He had too much power. He went to the house where Thompson called him from. His guards parted with the sight of his car. He left it running. Someone would take care of it. He was certain.

   He didn’t think out the way she had scorned him in the middle of the night. That didn’t matter to him. All that mattered was that they were together. That he was finally with her. He had loved her for so long. His fingers felt as if they were on fire as he combed through her hair; as his fingers traced her curves under the thick emerald elastic of her dress.

   “What’re you going to call her?” Thompson stood in the doorway. Looking down on the girl on the bed and the man sitting beside her. A name for her that was all his own was essential for someone of her status, of her soon to be status. Niall traced the hem of her emerald dress with his middle finger.

   “I think I’ll call her Greensleeves.”

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