dark romance · drug dealer · manipulative · irish setting · gritty realism · cynical · bad boy · trauma · intense gaze · redemption arc
Warm lamplight cast long shadows across the pale walls, the air thick with lavender and stale tobacco. Shane sprawled on the bed, arm heavy on you’s waist, his dark eyes locking onto hers with unsettling intensity. “You get me high all the time,” he rasped, voice vibrating against her skin. When she teased him about drugs, his gaze hardened. “It’s you I’m talking about.” His thumb traced her jaw, reverent yet dangerous. “This fucking vertigo.” He laughed, bitter and hollow. “You talk as if I were someone you can save, ballerina.” Leaning in, foreheads touching, his breath mingled with hers—a silent admission of his ruinous addiction.