From the car seat, your arms grab hold onto a crate full of glass bottles. Leaning back slightly to support the heavy weight, you walk briskly towards the grand doors of the Garrison. The sky was dull and grey, the sun barely peaking onto the horizon. The icy wind bites the skin on your hands, stiffening and numbing your fingers as they clutch on the ridges of the said crate.
Reaching the doors, you prop up a knee and rest the crate on it with a steady hand. Holding it close to your hip, you reach into the pockets of your coat to find the keys. The metal keys jingle in your grasp as you hold up one in particular to unlock the door, only to find it unlocked and a tad bit ajar. *Did you forget to lock up?* Panic sets in. You use your back to push the doors open, settling the crate on a nearby table. Your eyes scan the bar, the drinks and furniture seemed to be where they were the night before. That is, until your eyes landed on a familiar figure at a corner.
"John?" your voice calls out, eyes squinting to get a better look. "That you?" you say again. A rough grunt answered your question. You close the distance between between the both of you. You see John Shelby hunched over at a corner of the bar, an empty glass at hand. A bottle of whiskey stood tall in front of him, a third of the liquid already gone. His head hung low and his hair a mess with parts of it sticking out from the hardened pomade.
You walk towards him slowly whilst rubbing your hands together for warmth. "It's seven in the bloody morning, John. What are you doing with a full bottle of the Garrison's whiskey, huh?" You snatched the bottle away.
"Mind ya business. Oi, what 're ya think you're doing wit' that bott'l? Give me that!" John straightens up and extends his arm, trying to grab the bottle from you. He almost trips, holding onto the bar table for support.
A sigh escapes your lips and you grab another glass from behind the counter. You pour yourself a drink and filled John's glass too. You closed the bottle tightly and placed it back to where it belonged. Waiting patiently, you sip on the whiskey and rest your arms on the table.
John looks at you and clears his throat. He knew he wouldn't be able to walk away from this confrontation. He sighs and grabs his glass, downing the contents in one gulp. "The kids got me runnin' 'round all night. Not a wink of sleep," He says with an exasperated tone, rubbing his red eyes.
You look at him with pity. Later on in the morning, the gambling den will open to welcome another round of bets. John usually took care of the receipts and customers, rounding them up in a straight line as he took note of their payments. Without sleep, you knew he'd be way too out of his head.
Taking the matter into your own hands, you hand him the remaining contents of your drink. "Have the day off. I'll deal with it," You tell him, already formulating a plan. John waves his hand with reluctance and shakes his head aggressively, causing him to be even more giddy.
"N-no, I can't do 'that. Tommy will shoot my head off," John argues, standing up from his seat with shaky movements as he grabs his wrinkled coat from his chair.
"Oh shut up. Your head doesn't look like it's with you at this moment anyway," You tell him in a joking manner. You move to put his arms over your shoulder and walk towards the family car. Even in his drunken state, John doesn't rest his full weight on you and tried his best to walk alongside with your guidance. He leans on the window as you lock the Garrison from the outside.
Grabbing a hold on him again, you reach the door handles of the car. You open the passenger side and shove him in. "Ow!" He remarks, holding the side of his head.
"Oh shit! sorry," You laugh quietly at your carelessness.
You sat at the driver's seat and turn on the engine, driving to the Shelby residence. John sleeps soundlessly beside you with the exhaustion finally washing down on him. The car stops in front of the house and you turn to wake him but thought twice about waking him from his slumber. Instead, the car accelerates at a steady pace and you drove around town as he catches some shut-eye.
Aemond sipped on wine mindlessly as he watches you interact with Lords of noble houses. It was clear that they were trying to woo you, in hopes to have your hand in marriage.
His only seeing eye narrows with distaste, his lips pursed.
From afar, you mindlessly nod at whatever the man was saying, sipping on your wine to keep yourself busy.
Aemond had seen a few men approach you. It was obvious that they had taken to your beauty. His right hand had clenched around his wine cup, and his smile was gone as he watched the scenario play out. His eye remained fixed upon you, unblinking.
His eye was filled with an angry glare, his lips had pressed into a hard line, he was jealous, and did little to hide it.
you were finally able to run off from the man that had occupied your attention longer than you had hoped. Walking with haste, you approach the Royal Table, isolated from the rest and telling of your royal status.
You plop yourself down next to Aemond, sighing in relief.
Aemond sees your approaching figure, and softens his gaze, his eye hiding the fury he was feeling only moments ago. His mouth pulls up into a faint, pleasant smile.
"Did anyone bother you, my lady?" His voice quiet and monotonous, yet there was a hint of concern in his voice.
"I continuously, have been steering away from marriage proposals. I do not know how much longer I can entertain this," You chuckle humorlessly, hiding your face in hands with exasperation.
Aemond chuckles lightly at your reaction, a tone of amusement evident in his voice. "So it seems, my lady is popular?"
You took it upon yourself be forward, a small smirk on your lips. "Well, yes. your lady is popular".
Your words made him smile softly, a hint of his dimples showing. Unsure of how to respond, a slight blush appears on his face. His eye remains fixed upon your own, for there was a sense of appreciation, admiration, and respect that very few people can evoke.
"Do I have any competition?" He asks softly, his voice merely a whisper as he entertains your teasing.
"Yes. Yes, you do," you lean closer to him, subtly pointing at a few noble lords in the crowd.
"By that table, we have Cregan Stark. He is noble and a gentleman. I almost fell for him, truth be told-" You chuckle, hearing Aemond breathed in sharply, sounding constrained.
"-And over there, is Tyland Lannister. His house is one of the richest in all Seven Kingdoms, he said he would buy me a castle and build the largest dragonpit the world has ever seen. But he is arrogant," You continue your teasing, wondering how far you could push him.
Aemond turned his head, following the direction of your finger. His lip frowned for a moment, before he looked at you again, unimpressed.
"The Northmen and the Westmen are both powerful and wealthy. But I can buy you a castle and build you a dragonpit, too."
He chuckles - "And I am not arrogant."
Aemond gives you a sly smile, his pride evident.
Your eyes study him. "No, you are not arrogant.. You are cunning, loving, and very handsome," You trail off, a certain twinkle in your eye.
"-but stubborn!" You point an accusing finger at him, a playful smile on your lips.
Aemond chuckles at your accusation. His eye brightened with glee while his grin grew a tiny bit wider. "You know me well, my love."
"Cunning, loving, handsome, stubborn.. and proud." He repeats it back to you. "Are my qualities what attracted you to me?" He asks you with a teasing tone in his voice, his eye twinkling with mischief.
"You wish! you would be the luckiest man alive if you had me as your wife" You roll your eyes, trying to hide your smile.
Aemond chuckles, while his cheeks took upon a slightly redder hue. He takes his finger and rests it under your chin, pulling it nearer to his face as he leans closer to you.
"I am only the most blessed man because I have you," He spoke in High Valyrian, his words easily putting butterflies in your stomach. Your heart drums in your chest at your closeness.
You narrow your eyes, not once breaking away from his hypnotic gaze. A sly smiles creeps onto your face. "What makes you think you have me already, hm?"
Aemond's top lip twitches slightly, curving into a smirk as he sees your sly smile and narrowed eyes.
"The way you look at me, the way you talk to me, the way you behave around me," He speaks without missing a beat, his eye still trained on yours. His gaze falls to your lips, returning back to your meet your eyes - his pupils dilated.
Aemond paused for a second, and leaned in to whisper in your ear, his voice sultry and deep. "You love me, just admit it."
Your smile only grows wider as he lists down the things about you. You try horribly to keep your emotions in check as the your heart beats loudly in your chest, feeling tingly in your stomach. Biting your lip, you lean into his ear.
"I'm sorry, but I have marriage proposals to accept" You pull away, the faintest of red on your cheeks. Still, you did not want to back down. Your words were a harmless effort to rile him up, and rile him up you did.
Aemond's heart started to beat heavier and quicker, his eye shimmered with jealousy, narrowing to fix his gaze on you. His lips curved in a sneer, his gaze predatory. Aemond pulled you towards him with force, holding you by your wrists as he brought his face threateningly close.
In your shared mother tongue, he softly spoke, his voice firm and threatening. "Would you accept someone else's proposal?"
You give him an impish smile, your eyes twinkling with mischief. "What would you do if I did?"
Aemond's breathes become staggered as he holds on with restraint. His face appeared filled with wrath, his voice lowered with an iron determination. His hands tightens around your wrist, pulling you to his hard chest.
He leaned forward, his other hand clamped around the back of your neck. His voice firm and serious - "I will kill anyone who dares to marry you, for you are mine, my love. Only I hold your heart."
Your hand is turning white from the deadly grip he has on your wrists. Your faces merely inches from each other as he holds your neck firmly. You feel his hot breath on your face, seeing this pupils blown with desire and rage. You smirk devilishly, you had him right where you wanted him.
"Would you claim me as yours?" You whisper lowly, your voice enchanting. Your eyes were half-closed with desire.
Aemond's eye gleamed again, angry and full of wrath.
His voice was filled with dominance and authority, "Yes." He replied confidently, as he stared directly into your eyes. "You are mine, my love. I will claim you, mark you…" He whispered, his eye roaming your figure with hunger.
His lip sneered with ferocious determination, as he uttered - "By the Gods.. you will have our children, and I will make you forever loyal and bound to me, and to our house."
Speak, Commander | Aegon II Targaryen x Fem!Reader
Summary : Reader is the Commander of the Kingsguard. Prince Aegon takes an interest in you during one of King Viserys' feasts.
Warnings : Aegon himself is a warning i suppose..
Additional Information :
> standalone from HOTD storyline (there are no spoilers)
> written in third person perspective (she/her)
> 1433 words | 11 minutes
The Great Hall welcomed noble Lords and Ladies from around the realm. Tonight, King Viserys held one of many feasts. A small one, yet still glamourous. Ever the generous King he was.
She stood at attention, stationing near the steps of the Royal Table where the King was sitting. She wore a suit of armour, the signature white cloak of the Kingsguard draped elegantly on her right shoulder. A hefty sword rests by her hip, a cautious hand hovering over the hilt.
Aegon approaches from behind, making sure to not startle her. He quietly notes her appearance, clearing his throat before he starts to speak. "Commander. May we speak?"
She turns around, looking expectant. She looks around the room before giving him her full attention. "Prince Aegon, do you require something?" She bows curtly.
He bows his head respectfully in her direction. "I simply wish to... compliment you on your fine appearance. I've never seen you in full armour before," His lips quickly turning into a sly smirk.
She raises an eyebrow, skeptical. "Thank you, My Prince. Now do you require my assistance or not?" Her eyes searching his, trying to figure out his intentions.
"No, Commander. I simply wanted to pay a compliment," He shrugs, a roguish grin on his face. "Perhaps I will get to see you in armour again?" He chuckles.
"Most probably. Though I might try my very best to avoid you at all cost. No offence, Prince," She huffs, bored.
"And why's that?" His voice is teasing. He steps closer, close enough to smell her perfume... And to feel her breath against his face. "Is my reputation *that bad*?" He whispers lowly, his violet eyes shining with mischief.
She steps away, stunned by his approach and closeness. She sighs, looking around the room once more for any threats as she is occupied by Prince Aegon. She stand straight, face stoic "Do I have permission to speak freely, Prince?"
"Of course," Aegon smirks at her reaction. "Speak, Commander," He permits her, his grin growing.
At his command, her shoulder slouches carelessly and she juts out her hip. she rests her arms one atop the other on the hilt of her sword. The stoic face was then replaced by a look of pure boredom - the one she tried to conceal. She looked off guard and casual.
"You-" She starts off, voice firm and of disapproval.
"You are sluggish and lazy. You like to drink - and when you drink you get drunk- and when you are drunk..." Her voice trails off, becoming louder with each phrase. She stops to take a breath. Her voice becomes softer yet firm.
"..When you are drunk, your intentions are clouded with lust. You visit brothels. You shame The King's name and you enjoy doing it," She breathes out, barely taking the time to check herself.
After she speaks, her face flashes in panic. She did not mean to nag at the Prince. she waits for his reaction, prepared to be called out for her casualness in speaking.
He blinks. Once, twice. His mouth curls into a lopsided grin.
"...Ahah," Aegon starts laughing, trying to recover from his shock at her boldness, and her accuracy. "I can't exactly deny that..."
He grins mischievously. "You have a very... direct way with your words, Commander," He quirks a brow.
She clears her throat, silently relieved that he didn't order to cut off her tongue right then and there.
"I was given permission to speak freely..." she justifies, eyes roaming everywhere but him.
He shrugs. "Of course. Free speech is your right as a citizen of the realm," He chuckles sheepishly.
"I must admit, your words took me off guard. Most don't speak to me so openly... But I don't mind. It's... well.. entertaining, I suppose," He pauses, smiling. "Can you blame me for my ways? Being a Targaryen Prince certainly has it's benefits. So why not enjoy them every once in a while?"
she furrows her eyebrows, clearly disapproving his way of thinking. Her face flashes a look of disappointment that he did not consider her words.
"Whatever The Prince says," she states, huffing with disdain.
That little remark was uncalled for, but she does have a point.
He chuckles and sighs, "but fine. I suppose I could... curb my behaviour. As a gesture of my... appreciation of your honestly," He extends a hand with a smirk, eyes twinkling with humour. "would you care to dance?"
Dance?
Her eyes widen, she stills. Her eyes dart around the room frantically.
"What? You're not afraid of the Prince's dancing, are you? Or are you... afraid of me?" Aegon's eyes twinkle yet again. His grin spreading across his face with amusement.
Her eyebrows furrow again, annoyed. "Scared of you?" she scoffs.
"I simply cannot. I am on duty," She states firmly, looking prideful as ever.
He frowns.
"Oh, please," He chuckles. "Come on now, Commander. Surely you can make a little time for this... Prince?" His voice drops to a murmur as his tone turns flirtatiously.
"You might even learn something," Aegon steps closer to her, "or maybe, I'll learn something about you," He steps even closer, his voice a whisper and his eyes dancing.
She stutters, trying to come up with another excuse.
He steps closer still, his face inches from hers. She can feel his breath against her skin.
"Are you... intimidated?" His voice drops to a whisper.
He puts one hand on her chin and smiles.
"Or is this exciting you?" His eyes dancing darting between hers and her lips. He smirks softly, noting her features in his head.
She steps away quickly, clearing her throat. "Fine. We will dance. Just this once," She says pointedly, failing to quickly come up with another excuse.
Aegon smiles, "perfect, Commander,"
He extends a hand and leads her to the dance floor. He places his left hand on her hip, his right hand holding hers. His eyes twinkling and his voice filled with confidence as he speaks.
"So," Aegon holds up his chin, a proud grin on his face. "How should this dance go? Do you teach me your steps or do I take the lead?"
Her eyes dart around the room as she grows more conscious of the eyes of nobles and ladies in the room. She feels small and uneasy.
"I..." She trails off, not knowing if she should admit it to him.
"I don't know how to dance.." Her voice merely a whisper.
His jaw drops, his smug grin melting into a stunned look. He stares at her and shakes his head.
"You don't?" He laughs quietly and pulls her close. As he starts dancing, his smile still wide and genuine.
"Oh Commander, you are full of surprises," He chuckles. "I'll teach you how, but you must do your best to follow my lead, alright? Is that a deal? No excuses," He smiles.
she finally looks at him, face still reluctant. She nods her head briefly.
He smiles, leading her into his steps, gently but purposefully, guiding her in the dance.
"There. Not that hard is it?" He chuckles and gives her hand a reassuring squeeze.
The two of them begin dancing. Aegon's confidence clear in both his face and his movements. He lowers his head to look at her.
She tried her best to follow his lead, the white cloak of her armour swaying elegantly with their movements. She huffs, anxious at the attention they have of the room. All eyes are on them.
"Pay them no mind, Commander. It is just you and me here," Aegon's voice is soft, delicate. It was completely out of character. His gentleness and focus on her caught them both by surprise. Aegon never knew he was capable of chivalry quite like this. His eyes never left hers. His hold strong and unwavering.
She finds her confidence once more, her steps more precise and swift. Her eyes look up into his, she couldn't help but observe his features. The indicative violet orbs staring right back at her.
The music seemed to die down as she feels his breath on her. She swore she could hear his heart thumping in his chest. The distance between them was almost non-existent.
Applause.
She heard hands clapping as Aegon brings them to a slow stop. The music must have ended. How long had it been? She could not remember.
Aegon's eyes grow soft, a small smile on his lips. He feels her pull away, feeling the lack of warmth from her body so close to his. He yearns to feel it again. This time, he is determined.
Summary : You meet Billy Kitchen for the first time.
Warnings : cussing, alfie's use of language, brief mentions of sexual themes, sexual tension
Additional Information :
> follows events from season 2 of Peaky Blinders (minor spoilers)
> written in second person perspective
> 379 words | 3 minutes
Author's Note :
I haven't really seen any works done for him and personally, I fancy the man. Please excuse my weak attempt to literate alfie's cockney accent. Let me know if I should do more works on mista kitchen!
"Good lad. Fill it up, and fuck off," Alfie huffs as he gestures to the occupational form you were handing out to the men. As they leave, Alfie slouches into his chair sighs deeply.
"Wher' on this fuckin' earth, right? does Thomas fuckin' Shelby get a whole bunch o' blokes to do his biddin' for him?" He complains with furrowed eyebrows.
You look at him amused. Standing right next to him, you cross your arms and lift a brow. "Jealous are we, Alfie?" You tease him.
His head snaps to your direction and blinks furiously, dumbfounded. "What? Lil' 'ol me? jealous of that twink?" His childish retaliation made you burst out in laughter.
Just then, a tall, bulky man - presumably another 'baker' saunters in. Your banter with Alfie cuts short and abrupt as you directed your attention to the stranger.
"Name," Alfie demands.
"Billy Kitchen," He states with confidence. Dominance radiating off him. His stern eyes were unwavering, almost challenging as his eyes looks down at Alfie.
From your point of view, you neck strains a little to meet his gaze. He auburn hair amess hidden under his cap, rough stuble neatly trimmed. His stout built seen clear as day even under his thick coat. Your mouth waters at the thought of those big strong arms holding you down as he thrus-
"Go on then, give the basta'd his papers and apron" Alfie calls to you, proding his elbow to your hip gently.
What? Oh.
You tense up and clear your throat, embarrassed to the bone. Your clammy palms grabbed the papers and apron in a scurry.
His eyes meet yours for the first time, his face still stoic. His gaze was intense. Your arms reach out towards him, handing him the items at hand. He leans closer from the other side of the desk, he takes them from you slowly.
"Thank you, Ms" He says gruffly, nodding his head.
He walks away with his eyes still trained on you. Your lungs burn.
Gasping
You were practically gasping for air from the breath you didn't know you were holding. In the fits of coughing, you hear Alfie's voice again.
"Right, and what in the hell was that?" His eyes wide like saucers, eyebrows halfway up his hairline.
Awful Lot of Questions | Thomas Shelby x GN!Reader
Summary : You are a hitman, arriving in Birmingham for undercover work. You meet your target ; Thomas Shelby upon chance. Something happens and it stirs conflicting feelings.
Warnings : Mentions of guns, alcohol, cussing, smoking
Additional Information :
> written in second person perspective
> no spoilers
> 1145 words | 8 min
Author's Note :
Thank you for the love for my first post. Appreciate the positive feedback and reblogs <3.
The Garrison was lively tonight, men drunk over their heads singing popular Birmingham tunes that sounded unfamiliar to you. The sleek brown coat did well to shield yourself from the cold air, the long material hitting your legs as you walked towards the establishment.
A ring of the bell announces your presence. You tip your hat low, covering your eyes and most of your face. A few people looked up and noticed you but most to all were too engulfed in their own chatter. Walking towards the bar, your light footsteps startle the person behind it.
Henry turns around to face the bar, bottle of whiskey in hand. He jolts in surprise and loses his grip of the bottle. With haste, you catch it before it hits the floor.
"Oi! You almost made me shit my pants," Henry chuckles, thanking you for saving the beverage. "What will it be?" He asks, setting down the bottle safely and wiping his sweaty palms with a cloth.
"Rum. if you have it," You respond, resting your arms on the bar table.
"Of course we have it, I'll get you one from the top shelf," Henry turns, stretching his arm up high. He grabs a fancy-looking bottle and pulls out a glass from behind the counter. Pouring swiftly, he hands it over to you. "On the house. Would've lost a whole bottle without ya," He thanks again, moving to attend to other patrons.
You nod your head gratefully, fishing in your pocket for a two pound coin. You set it on the table. Henry notices the money and his eyes widen, pushing the coin towards you. "On the house! don't worry about it," He emphasises.
As he walks away, you bend forward quickly, sliding the coin under a dry cleaning cloth. He'd find out eventually, though you wouldn't be there to take it back.
Settling in comfortably, you swallow the alcoholic beverage. It burns the back of your throat. You sigh in relief.
Your attentive ears pick up on the ringing of the doorbell. Another patron, perhaps. You didn't bother to look. However, the only difference was, the people in the Garrison seem to have quietened down significantly. A person of importance?
Footsteps made their way closer to your direction. You see Henry scramble, grabbing the bottle of whiskey from behind the counter, hidden away like a secret stash. You recognise the bottle from earlier - the one you caused to nearly break, but saved.
You decide to risk it, adjusting your hat and turning slightly to look. You were met with clear blue eyes instantaneously. Your stomach drops - It's him. The one you were set out to kill whose name is Thomas Shelby. He's seen you.
He opens a pack of cigarettes, dragging one across his bottom lip out of habit, before letting it settle. He holds out the remaining cigarettes toward you, in offering. You held up a hand to reject it.
"You don't smoke?" He asks in raspy voice, somewhat mumbling with the unlit cigarette between his lips. He digs into his pocket, finding a lighter.
Smoke? Of course you do. You were just as addicted to nicotine as the next person. "I do, just not those ones," You reply, not intending to sound arrogant.
He lights the tobacco, puffing out smoke. He takes a long drag, eyes still trained on you. "New around here?" He probes, drinking the whiskey from a glass.
"Awful lot of questions," You supply, getting irritated. You felt the urge knawing at you - to put a bullet between his eyes.
"And not an awful lot of answers," He states. Thomas was only met with silence. He moves to sit beside you, leaving a chair between both of you. " Birmingham's been getting visitors lately. Some for leisure, some for business... others for trouble, " He blows smoke infront of him, knocking his head back as he downs the glass of whiskey.
As your lips move to answer him, the Garrison doors open violently. The doors slam against the walls with a loud thud. Everyone turned their heads to the commotion. A man - face beetroot red and clearly under the influence, tramples into the pub and a gun in hand. Shouts of panic grow louder as he flails the weapon recklessly.
Thomas stand up, cocking his head. His eyes directing orders to a few men. You see that they were all wearing a similar cap; the peaky cap - peaky blinders
Just as two men grabbed a hold of the drunkard, he swats at them aggressively, pointing the loaded gun with wobbly legs as he tries to stand upright. One of the peaky men from behind grabs the hand with the gun, pointing it away.
BANG!
A round was fired as he does so. Almost in slow motion, you see the bullet traveling in lightning speed towards the bar and,
towards Thomas Shelby.
It's too late for him to move out of the way without getting punctured, unless.
You stretch your arm, grabbing the collar of Thomas's cloak and pull harshly towards you.
In an instant, his body clashes into yours, bringing the both of you falling down to the ground. He blue eyes bore into yours, mouth agape from shock of the event. Your hat falls from your head, revealling your face. Your heart drums in your chest in panic.
You push him off, grabbing your hat and concealing the top half of your face from wandering eyes. You look at the bar table to see the bullet embedded in the wood where Thomas was standing just moments ago.
Deciding that you've made enough mistakes for the day, you rush to leave the establishment with heavy footsteps.
Thomas gets up, brushing his attire and commands the peaky men to usher the dunkard out of the Garrison. He'll deal with that later. He fishes out another cigarette, lighting it and dragging a long one to calm his nerves.
He looks to the enterance, where the door still sways from your haste exit. He stares at it a little longer, collecting the flashes of memory, - the harsh tug of his collar, chest bumping into yours and losing his footing, plummeting down to the ground, taking you with him. He recollects the moment your hat falls from your head, he could finally see your face. Your coloured orbs staring back his, full of emotion compared to the lifeless blue ones he had.
Then you push him off and dart out of the place. What were you running from? He wonders. Why do you cover your eyes?
Thomas is filled with more questions and yet again, with not an awful lot of answers.
Are You Laughing at My Brother? | Shelby Brothers x Sister!Reader
Summary : Y/N is just a year younger than John Shelby, though her immense instinct to protect her older brothers against their enemies reveals that the Shelby name is not to be trifled with.
Warnings : cussing, misogyny, death threats, guns, descriptions of violence, racism
Additional Information :
> takes place in early season 1 ; Billy Kimber era (minor spoilers)
> written in third person perspective (she/her)
> 847 words | 6 minutes
Author's Note :
decided to use some gifs along the way, might be distracting for your reading - I apologise. My first work on here, please let me know how you find it! Enjoy <3
"Are you laughing, at my brother?" She speaks, appearing from behind the bar. For the first time since they've dared to enter the Garrison, Billy Kimber and his two men flinched slightly at her sternness. This only lasted a split second. Still, it didn't go unnoticed.
Billy Kimber flashes a cocksure smirk, pleased at the presence of something less dreadful than matter at hand. "And what do we have here,"
John lets out a humourless laugh. "I'd be careful with that one. She's feisty," He warns Billy Kimber with an all-knowing look.
Billy Kimber rakes his eyes over her physique. "This is no place for a whore - even a pretty one at that," He tuts mockingly, shaking his head.
Arthur inhales deeply as he fights the very last nerve to not cut the cheeky bastard across the face - to not slice his eyes for looking at his dearest little sister. The word 'whore' bounces around in his head. Arthur's lips twitch, knuckles turning white as he grips onto the arm rest for restraint.
He was waiting for a signal - a sound or nod of approval from Tommy or Her. Hell, he thinks, even John could command it and he would bloody do it. No questions asked.
Nonetheless, She makes her presence known. Almost like clockwork - one of the Shelby brothers stand and holds out his chair. In this moment, it was John. He extends his hand and escorts her to his previously occupied seat with care. Recklessly, he drags a chair for himself from a nearby table beside them, and plops down.
Billy Kimber clears his throat wearily but still as arrogant as before. "Right, he's the oldest, you're the thickest. I'm told the boss is called tommy so it can't be this woman you lot here seem to worship. Then I'm guessing that's you, cause you're looking at me up and down like I'm a fucking tart, " He spits out.
Thomas finally unclenches his jaw, the throbbing pain creeping onto him. He puts on a calm façade. Unmoving, he looks to Her direction.
Only when he saw She hadn't intervene, he spoke. "I want to know what you want. And which one am I talking to, which one of you is the boss?" Thomas breathes out as he takes a puff from a cigarette. His finger darting around from Billy Kimber to the two men that accompanied him.
Billy Kimber shoots up from his seat, knocking it to the ground. "I'm the fucking boss, alright!? Enough parley, you fixed the race without my permission. You fucking Gypsy scum. I run the races. You fixed one of 'em, so I'm going to have you shot against the post!" He declares - finger pointing threateningly to Thomas.
"Pick it up," She leans forward onto the table, hands intertwined infront of her.
Billy Kimber looks at her flabbergasted, "What?" He furrows his eyebrows, offended.
She stands slowly, the men around her straightening their backs in alert at her movement. She stares at him, unfriendly.
"I said," She continues, leaning forward once more, arms stretched out on the sides of the table, dominating the space at the table. "Pick. my chair. up," She repeats.
Billy Kimber remains stunned, seemingly not knowing what to do. The audacity of such a woman to demand him to pick up a chair? He was shocked to say the least, and outrageously insulted.
Ready to argue and humiliate her, Billy Kimber opens his mouth but She was quicker.
"You swayed your arse in here like you own the place. Guns out like you're flaunting fuck knows what," She speaks fluently, rage settling in. "We fixed your race, you put a bullet in my ceiling. That's fair, but then you had to run that fucking mouthpiece of yours didn't ya eh?"
"Want to put a bullet in my brother's head, is that it?" Like a predator, She stalks closer to him.
As She approaches, one of Billy Kimber's men crouched down and picked up the fallen chair. Just as the chair was upright, She gathered her strength and slammed Kimber's shoulders down onto the seat and held him still.
"Why don't we put one in yours?" She whispers into his ear, patting harshly on his right shoulder.
In an instant, Kimber's two men draw their guns.
The Shelby brothers lurch forward, in efforts to protect their sister infront of them, moving to draw their own guns as well.
However, the men who were supposedly loyal to Billy Kimber pointed their guns at the man himself. A sinister smile creeps onto Her face.
"Let's do proper business, shall we Mister Kimber? Starting off with your races, " She declares, moving to lower the guns that have been drawn by her brothers and the two men working for Her.
She turns abruptly to face Kimber. "Though, they wouldn't be your races any longer after we're done here, would they? " Her face suggestive of diplomacy, but voice laced with threat.
