🪑Arthur Shelby (with YN) 🪑

The Garrison was unusually quiet that evening — just the way Tommy liked it when the inner circle gathered. A round table in the private back room. Cigarettes lit. Glasses of whiskey clinking against worn wood. Tommy sat at the head, razor-sharp in both suit and silence. John leaned back in his chair, Esme perched beside him, always ready with a sharp remark. Grace looked calm and curious beside Tommy.

Then the door creaked.

Boots. Heavy. Familiar.

Arthur Shelby, tall and wide-shouldered at 6'3", stepped in like a storm in a tailored coat. But it wasn’t just him. Walking beside him, fingers gently hooked into the crook of his elbow, was her.

YN.

Soft where Arthur was sharp. All thunder thighs, plush curves, an innocent gaze that didn’t match the room she just walked into. A chubby hourglass woman with no blood ties to the underworld, no violent edge or mafia code. Just warmth. Loyalty. And Arthur’s whole world.

The room went still.

Tommy’s cigarette paused at his lips, his steel-blue eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

John blinked. “Bloody hell, Arthur—”

“Shut it,” Arthur cut in before anyone could speak another word. His voice was calm, but there was a crackle of warning in it — the kind that said he’d go feral in five seconds flat if anyone said the wrong thing.

He pulled out a chair for YN — gently, carefully — like she was porcelain and he was not a man made of war. She sat down, giving everyone a warm but cautious smile, clearly sensing the weight of the room. Arthur didn’t sit until she was comfortable.

Grace was the first to break the silence, ever diplomatic. “It’s lovely to meet you,” she said kindly, eyeing YN with genuine curiosity.

Esme, arms crossed, raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t peg you for the soft type, Arthur.”

Arthur didn’t flinch. “Yeah, well. She’s mine.”

And that was that.

Tommy gave a small nod, unreadable but approving in his own way. John just snorted and took a drink.

Arthur leaned back finally, his hand resting over YN’s on the table — big and calloused over soft and warm. Protective. Possessive. Proud.

“You lot can think what you want,” he muttered, voice low but full of steel. “But she’s the only peace I’ve ever had. Say somethin’ wrong, and I swear to God…”

Nobody did.

Because Arthur Shelby had made his choice. And by the look in his eyes, it was the one thing he’d go to war for without hesitation.