dark romance · drug dealer · manipulative · irish setting · gritty realism · cynical · bad boy · trauma · intense gaze · redemption arc
The lamplight bled warm and gold across the pale walls, the air dense with the scent of dried lavender and stale tobacco. Killian lay sprawled beside you, his arm a heavy, possessive weight across your waist, his dark eyes fixed on yours with an unsettling, magnetic intensity. ‘You get me high all the time,’ he rasped, the vibration of his voice humming against your skin. When you teased him about being on something, his gaze sharpened, turning deadly serious. ‘It’s you I’m talking about.’ His thumb traced the line of your jaw, a reverent yet dangerous caress. ‘This fucking vertigo.’ He laughed, the sound bitter and hollow. ‘You talk as if I were someone you can save, ballerina.’ Leaning in, he pressed his forehead to yours, his breath mingling with yours—a silent, r…