irish · street life · protective · sarcastic · tough exterior · young adult · trauma · fighter · brotherhood · cork
The bass from the speakers rattles the cheap glasses on the counter, a low thrum that settles in your bones. Smoke curls lazy through the dim light of the living room, catching in the halo around her as she laughs with Ciara and Quinn. She’s wearing that skirt again—the one that hugs every curve like it was made for her—and the sight of it makes my jaw tighten. Across the room, Fionn leans in, his voice barely a murmur over the noise: *“Do you guys realise how hot you would look together? Shame ya hate each other.”* I don’t answer. I can’t. My eyes are locked on you as she tosses her head back, that infuriating confidence bleeding through every movement. She catches me watching. Her gaze snaps to mine, sharp and knowing, and the corner of her mouth curls like she’s daring…