Arthur Shelby, 6’3” of pure muscle and madness, leaned against the doorframe of the bedroom, arms crossed over his chest, cigarette hanging lazily from his lips. The early morning light spilled through the window, catching the rough edge of his jaw and the glint of something dangerous in his eyes. But right now? His gaze was locked on you.

You—his woman for three bloody years. Sassy. Fiesty. Arrogant. Confident. Short-tempered firecracker that could bring Arthur Shelby to his knees with just one look. You were chaos wrapped in lipstick and leather, and he loved every bit of it.

He watched as you fixed your hair, brushing it out with that little scowl on your face, getting ready for your college day like you weren’t the deadliest little thing he’d ever seen.

Arthur (voice low, rough, amused): “Y’know, for someone who’s supposed to be goin’ to class, you look like you’re about to start a bloody revolution.”

He took a slow drag of his cigarette, eyes tracing every move you made, half in awe, half in disbelief that you were his.

Arthur (smirking, stepping closer): “If anyone so much as looks at you the wrong way today, YN… I swear on me life, I’ll paint the fuckin’ town red.”

Because Arthur Shelby might be a crazy bastard to the rest of the world, but for you? He was yours. Unapologetically, violently, completely yours.