John Shelby x f!reader
"His Wife" arranged marriage one-shot
based on this ask, hope you enjoy
summary: an arranged marriage with John Shelby becomes something a little less unwilling than you expected.
warnings: smut, explicit language, power imbalance, possessive behaviour, mdni!
The door of John Shelby’s bedroom shuts behind you with a heavy click. It makes you flinch, but you don’t turn away from the window.
You’re still in your wedding dress, barely having time to come down from the night’s celebrations. And now here he is. Your new husband. One you had no say in. The one you had been wed off to so Thomas Shelby could strengthen business ties between your family and his.
You’d seen John before, of course. Hard not to. He didn’t blend into a room. But you’d never given him a reason to think you were looking. Never given anyone a reason to believe you’d appreciate being traded off to him like stock.
John stands behind you as he looks at the curve of your white dress. He isn’t subtle about it. That signature grin already forming as his eyes drag over you.
You hadn’t spoken a single word to him throughout the marriage celebrations. Just kept your head down. Letting the day pass as fast as it could. When he had asked you for a wedding dance, you’d said you weren’t much of a dancer and he had taken it as a hint to say no more to you and let you be. Drinking whiskey and smoking cigars with Isaiah and Arthur instead.
But his eyes hadn’t left you throughout the entire wedding. Not during the ceremony. Not during the reception. Certainly not as the evening celebrations lingered until early morning. What with the Shelby’s having invited almost all of Small Heath to send their perfect boy off.
But there’s only so many ways to avoid your new husband on your wedding. And sleeping in a separate bedroom during your wedding night was not something your father or Thomas Shelby would let you get away with. That much you knew. You could count yourself lucky that the Shelby brothers weren’t listening outside the door.
Still, you refuse to turn away from the window. As just to pretend you haven’t been married off for a few more minutes.
John lets you have it. Your moment of peace. There’s a pause where he just stands behind you, finishing off his cigarette. Then he stubs it, exhales smoke and moves towards you. “Not even gonna look at me?”
Your eyes stay fixed on the dark glass, the street below long gone quiet. “I’ve seen enough.”
There’s a low huff of amusement behind you. “Have you now?”
He’s closer now. You feel it before you hear it. His body behind yours. The weight of him moving into your space like it’s already his to take.
“You stood there all day…in that pretty little white dress, yeah,” John continues.
He stops right behind you, sliding a hand up your waist. Your breath hitches, but you don’t step away.
“Actin’ too good to even spare me a glance…” he breathes into your ear. “And now you’ve seen enough of me?”
“I didn’t ask for this.”
“Yeah, well I don’t ask for things. Still get ‘em.” He smirks again. “So here we are. Carryin’ my name, sweetheart.”
His grip on your waist tightens as he spins you around. You keep your eyes on the floor, refusing to meet his.
He catches your jaw with his free hand. “Eyes on me now, love. Go on—spare your husband a glance.”
You hesitate, then make yourself look at him.
His eyes are an icy blue, fixed on you in a way that makes heat crawl over your skin. Up close, you notice the freckles on his skin, the way his hair sits rough from the night. There’s hunger there, and something close to fascination just beneath it.
“Knew you could,” he mutters.
Heat blooms deep in your stomach, completely unwanted as you take him in, Boyish, unwavering, and yet seen more than people his age should.
“Wouldn’t have gone through with it, would I? Not unless you were the prettiest girl I’d ever seen.”
You try to turn your head away. His grip on your jaw only tightens. “Don’t be like that.” His head leans back slightly, taking you in. He nods, like something’s been confirmed. “Yeah.”
You frown slightly.
“You spent the whole night avoidin’ me,” he says, eyes flicking to your lips. “What, you won’t even dance with your husband?”
“You’re not my—”
“I am, though.” He pulls you flush against him. “You think I’m just gonna let that go?” He lets out an amused huff. “No, sweetheart…you owe me.”
And then he’s kissing you. There’s nothing gentle about it. Just heat and pressure stealing the breath from your lungs.
His lips are warm, softer than you expected. The way his lips press into yours…a little careless in how he presses closer, like he’s not asking, but deciding you’re already his.
You freeze for a second, and then you find yourself kissing him back. Wanting more of his touch. Of the way he tastes like whiskey, mixed with the faint lingering taste of smoke. You wrap your arms around him, deepening it.
When he pulls back, he presses his forehead to yours, his breathing uneven. “Funny that.” He brushes his knuckles along your face. “Kiss me like that… then pretend you don’t want it.”
Your lips part, but nothing comes out.
He looks at you for a moment, like he already knows what you’re not saying.
He kisses you again, rougher now. His tongue presses at your mouth, and you let him in. Your hands sliding from his shoulders to his neck as you nip at his bottom lip.
This time when he breaks it, his grip tightens slightly as he turns you—slow at first, giving you time to stop him.
But you don’t want him to.
Your chest meets the cool glass of the window, and he’s already there. Crowding you, one hand braced beside your head, the other pulling you into him.
“Do you want me, love?” he murmurs.
His eyes flick down to your neck, and he brushes away the layer of veil, bending to leave soft kisses there.
You let out a sound as he marks your neck. You nod, unable to stop the way your body leans into him. The way you crave his touch.
He continues nipping at your neck, slower now.
His hands slide down your waist, lifting your dress just enough to get it out of the way, mouth still moving over your skin.
“John,” you whisper.
“Yeah…” he breathes against your ear.
His hand finds your jaw again, turning your head just enough. He kisses you like that. From behind. Deeper this time. He’s got you exactly where he wants you now.
His hand moves lower, over your hip, down to the back of your thighs, his fingers slipping between them, thumb pressing between your legs as he finds you already soaked for him.
“Knew it,” he says.
He slides a finger into your pussy, and you whimper. Your hips arch as he adds another, pumping them in and out. “Hmm John,” you breathe.
He pulls his fingers out, leaving you at a loss. You turn towards him. “What...? I—"
He’s already unbuckling his belt where he’s rock hard. He slides down his trousers, freeing himself. You look down, and your breath catches. He’s bigger than you expected, veiny, already leaking like he’s been hard a while.
His hand slides up your spine, pressing you into the glass as he drags himself against your slick. You gasp when his tip brushes against your clit.
“You want me to make you feel good, hm?” he asks, still teasing your entrance.
“Yeah… please.” You arch your hips further against him, chasing the contact.
“Good.” he says, pushing into you in one smooth motion. The stretch makes you gasp.
He stays still, breathing heavy against your neck, buried inside you to the hilt. “Fuck, I was right about you.”
You don’t have time to think about what he means as he slides out, and pushes back into you hard, forcing you further against the window. You moan and he takes it as a sign, gripping your hips hard enough to mark. He moves again, harder this time, setting a rhythm that knocks the breath from your lungs.
Your pussy flutters around him, chasing the movement. You see stars as he slams into your g-spot.
Suddenly he pulls out with a frustrated groan. The loss hits immediately, your pussy tightening around nothing.
“I want more,’’ you breathe.
“Patience, love,’’ he says, grabbing you roughly and flipping you onto the bed. He crawls over you, immediately working on the dress corset, undoing it as fast as he can. “Let me see you.” He finishes unlacing it, your tits spilling out and he immediately takes one into his mouth, massaging the other. Your hands find his head, pulling him closer as he sucks greedily, then switches.
His cock drags against your slick again. “I want to see my wife when I fuck her,” and with that he pushes in again. He groans, brow creased in concentration as he moves immediately, fucking you hard.
You arch and take his head into your hands, keeping him close, this time making him look at you. And there’s something deeper in his gaze than lust. Something he hasn’t admitted, even to himself. He rolls his hips into you again, pressure building deep in your core. “You’re gonna be the death of me, you know that?”
You respond by pulling him closer, squeezing him between your thighs, dress fabric everywhere.
It builds too fast to stop. Your pussy clenches around him as you cum, pulling him with you as he spills himself inside you.
“Fuck…fuck you’re so perfect,” he groans, still moving as he fucks his seed into you.
You’re both on your back, panting heavy. John turns his head towards you, and you see it in his eyes again. Satisfaction, underneath something deeper. The same thing you noticed earlier. “Wasn’t chance, this,” he says.
You blink, still too close to him, hand resting against his chest. “What?”
John’s eyes stay on you. The blue in them makes heat crawl up your neck, and you look away. He places his hand in your hair, making you look at him again. That boyish face. Those intent eyes. The soft spot he only has for you. It’s all there.
“Saw you first,” he mutters. “Garrison. Years back.”
You crease your brows—and then you understand. Years ago. When your family first moved to Small Heath and you went out for drinks with your new friends.
He had seen you. He had been watching you since.
“And when they started talkin’ about marryin’ you off…your name came up in it,” he says, like it’s nothing. “I made sure it was me.”
For a second, you just stare at him. Until it all starts to make sense. He didn’t just agree to marry you. He made it happen.
“You—” Your hand lifts before you can stop it, right towards his face. Nothing hard. Just a quick slap.
He catches it faster than you can blink.
His fingers wrap around your wrist, holding it there between you, his grip firm against your skin. He looks pleased, like he expected this.
“You serious?” you breathe, anger flashing now. “You did that?”
“Wanted you,” he says, shrugging, as if that’s a perfectly reasonable explanation.
Your mouth parts, you shake your head, trying to pull your hand free.
He doesn’t let you, instead, he moves closer against you, closing what little space was left, eyes dropping to your mouth like the argument’s already over in his head.
“You were gonna slap me for that, yeah?” he murmurs.
You glare at him. “I should.”
That only makes his mouth twitch.
“Mm.” His thumb presses lightly against your wrist, holding you there. “Or—”
He leans in, his forehead dropping to your temple, lips brushing just against it. “—you just want round two.”
Your heart speeds up in your chest. He sees it. The flicker of hesitation, mixed with want.
He kisses your temple, then your jaw, then your lips again. Slowly, like he’s memorising you. Then he starts working on the layers of your wedding dress, stripping you fully until you’re naked beneath him.
He kisses you again. “You’re beautiful,” he murmurs. And when he slides back inside you this time, it’s slower, like he’s taking his time now.
dividers: @dividers-are-us
tagging a few who might enjoy ♡ @opaliteraven @potter-solomons @tomhearty1 @maywritesromance @leereadsfanfiction @maywritesromance @sjuzn86 @theurbanmademoiselle @happy-booty
a/n: first time writing john shelby — i love this man🤭
