Arthur Shelby (6’3", intimidating, explosive yet fiercely tender with his girl)
Setting: Early morning, soft light spilling through the cracked curtains in their quiet bedroom.
Arthur Shelby stood by the edge of the bed, arms crossed over his bare chest, tattoos half-hidden under a white vest, a cigarette resting behind his ear. The chaos of Birmingham and the Shelby name didn't reach this room. Not right now.
He looked down at the bundle of blankets beside him. His girl.
YN.
Still half-asleep, blinking slowly with puffy cheeks, wild hair everywhere, and that chubby, sweet hourglass figure barely visible under the tangled sheets. One thick thigh peeked from under the blanket. Her lips parted slightly, dazed, blinking like a confused baby bird.
Arthur smirked—crooked, warm, entirely unlike the face he showed the world.
“You look like a bloody potato, y’know that?” he muttered, voice gravelly with sleep and fondness. “But you’re my potato.”
His intimidating frame leaned down, hand brushing gently over her hair, then tapping her puffed cheek lightly with two fingers.
“Come on, love. Rise and Shine.”
And just like that, the most dangerous Shelby in Birmingham melted—completely undone by the woman who didn’t belong to the mafia, didn’t want his world, but somehow had his whole heart in the palm of her sleepy, soft hand.