Multifandom X Reader Stories

Less Flirting, More working (John Shelby) PART3

Moving in with John felt like stepping into another life, a mix of safety and chaos that was so undeniably him. The morning light streaming into his house was gentler than the glare of the bar's lamps, but it didn't make the memories go away. Every time I closed my eyes, I could still feel the stranger's grip bruising my wrists, the sickening weight of his hands on my skin. It was a memory I fought to shove down, to bury deep under laughter and work and the comforting sound of John's voice. But sometimes, when I was alone or the bar was too quiet, it came creeping back.

John was always nearby, his protectiveness a silent shield. He wasn't hovering, exactly, but he was close enough that I could feel his presence. If I had to step into the bar early, one of his brothers would walk in not five minutes later. Sometimes it was Arthur, muttering about "checking the stocks," even though I was sure he couldn't name half the bottles. And Tommy—Tommy's visits were quiet, an approving nod, then he'd linger with a cigarette, watching over me as I worked. I could tell they'd agreed on some kind of silent rotation, and it warmed something in me to know they were all looking out for me.

But I couldn't hide from the flashbacks. A crowded night at the Garrison would be buzzing with voices and laughter, and suddenly I'd catch a glimpse of a shadow, the clinking of a glass too close to my ear, and it would all come rushing back—the feeling of being cornered, the dizzying pain, and the helplessness that settled like ice in my chest. My hands would shake, my breath coming too fast, and I'd drop whatever I was holding, trying to focus on the cool surface of the bar, grounding myself with whatever I could.

One night, after the bar closed and I was alone in the storeroom, it happened again. I'd been putting away glasses when something shattered in the alley outside. The sound dragged me back to that night, and I felt my knees buckle, my breath coming in panicked gasps. I slid to the floor, barely able to hear the storeroom door creak open as John came in, his voice a soothing murmur. He knelt beside me, his arms around my shoulders, holding me close, letting me bury my face against his chest as I tried to force my breathing to slow.

"'S alright, love," he whispered, rubbing my back in steady circles. "It's just me. Just John."

When I finally pulled away, embarrassed by the tears on my face, he cupped my cheek gently, his thumb brushing away the wetness there. He didn't say anything more, just pulled me to my feet and brought me home, his hand never leaving mine. That night, he wrapped himself around me as I lay in bed, his heartbeat a steady, grounding rhythm against my back. He stayed up, his hand rubbing small circles on my arm until my breathing evened out and I drifted off.

Living with him became easier after that. There was a lightness that settled between us, even amid the chaos of bar life and the trauma I was still working through. John had a knack for making me laugh at the right times, distracting me with his ridiculous ideas and his bright smile, his boyish enthusiasm. He'd come into the kitchen, sweeping me up into an unexpected dance while I was making tea, or he'd slip me flowers he picked from some stranger's garden on his way home. I'd joke that he was more trouble than he was worth, but his laughter warmed me, and I could feel myself falling more deeply in love with him with every passing day.

One evening, after closing the bar, we lingered outside under the warm glow of the street lamps. It was a rare quiet moment in Small Heath, and I let myself relax, leaning against his shoulder as we walked back to his place. The air was thick with the smell of coal and rain, and he looked at me with that spark in his eye, his arm slipping around my waist.

"You ever think about the future?" he asked, his voice low and a bit hesitant.

I looked up at him, curious. "All the time," I replied, "I'm just too stubborn to admit it."

A grin split his face, and he pulled me closer, brushing his thumb over my cheek in a way that made my heart race. "Good," he murmured. He hesitated, and for a moment, I thought I saw nerves flash in his eyes. But he took a deep breath, glancing up at the stars before looking back at me.

"I know you've had a rough go of things," he began, his voice softer than I'd ever heard it. "I'd wait forever for you if I had to, you know that. But—" he swallowed, his thumb brushing my hand, "if there's even a small chance that you want this, that you want me... I'd be an idiot not to ask."

"Ask what, John?" I whispered, feeling my heart hammering in my chest.

He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small ring, simple and silver, but it shone brightly under the lamplight. His fingers trembled just a little as he held it out to me, his gaze earnest and unwavering.

"Marry me," he said softly, his eyes full of hope, his voice barely more than a breath. "Let me take care of you. I want you beside me, forever."

I stared at him, my heart swelling with so much emotion I thought I might burst. My mind flashed to all the laughter, the tenderness, the steady presence he'd been through all the nightmares and the quiet, healing days.

"Yes," I murmured, my voice cracking with emotion as I met his gaze, hardly able to believe the word had left my lips.

John's face broke into that boyish grin, his eyes shining as he slipped the ring onto my finger. Then, in one swift move, he pulled me into his arms, his mouth finding mine in a kiss that was soft, full of promises and love that had grown through fire.

As he held me there, in the soft glow of Small Heath's lamplight, I felt safe for the first time in a long while. We stood there in silence, wrapped in each other, letting the world slip away as he held me close.

4o