Arthur stood tall in the center of the Shelby lounge, one heavy arm slung protectively around Y/N's shoulders. His rough voice cut through the lazy chatter, demanding attention.

"Oi, listen up, all of ya!" he barked, that wild glint flashing in his eyes. Everyone turned — Tommy raising an eyebrow, Grace setting her teacup down delicately, John and Esme exchanging smirks, Finn grinning, and Polly lighting another cigarette with a knowing smile.

Arthur gave Y/N a little squeeze, chest puffed up like a proud lion showing off his rarest prize. "This 'ere's Y/N. She's my bird — my woman. Mine." He paused, tilting his head with a half-crazed grin. "Don't let that sweet little face fool ya. She ain't like any of ya posh slags or gang bitches runnin' about Birmingham. She's normal — proper, real... an' somehow, she's mad enough to put up with me." He barked out a laugh, ruffling Y/N’s hair with a tenderness that barely masked the feral edge of him.

The room reacted just as he expected:

Tommy gave a slow, measuring nod, sharp blue eyes appraising her in that calculating way of his. Grace smiled warmly, but there was a flicker of curiosity — and maybe worry — behind her polite facade. John let out a low whistle, nudging Esme, who just rolled her eyes and muttered, "Poor girl, doesn't know what's comin’." Finn, always the cheeky one, gave Y/N a wink and a thumbs-up from across the room. Mary, beside him, giggled into her hand, while Michael and Gina traded a look that screamed "this’ll be fun." And Polly — dear Polly — took a long drag from her cigarette, smoke curling around her smirk. "God help the poor soul that thinks they can mess with her... if she’s takin’ on an animal like you, Arthur."

Arthur just laughed again, heart pounding with something between love and pride, and tightened his arm around Y/N like he dared anyone — anyone — to look at her wrong.