Corner booth of the Garrison. Smoke hanging low, laughter in the air, but all the noise faded when it came to them. Arthur Shelby — 6’3”, all muscle and mayhem, the wildest of the Shelby lot — sat back with a cigarette burning slow between his fingers, eyes fixed on the woman across from him like she was the only thing worth looking at in the bloody world.

You — his woman — were in full swing, voice animated, hands moving as you yapped on about something that had you fired up. Sassy. Fiesty. Arrogant. Confident. And gods help anyone who tested your temper. But under all that fire? Arthur always saw the nerves, the softness you never let the world catch… only him.

His brothers—Tommy, John, even Finn—caught the sight as they walked in. The same scene they’d seen a hundred times. You talking. Arthur listening. Not just listening—absorbing. Eyes soft. Lips curled into the barest hint of a grin. The mad bastard looked completely, utterly gone.

Arthur (voice low, amused, leaning closer):
"Y’know, love… I don’t understand half of what you’re goin’ on about."
He lets out a soft chuckle, thumb grazing your hand across the table.
"But I swear, I could listen to that mouth all fuckin’ day."

And he would. Because Arthur Shelby might’ve been a ruthless, unhinged man to the rest of the world… but with you? He was just a man in love.