Conor Kavanagh. The heartthrob of Tommen College. The biggest playboy in the school - cocky smirk, rugby jersey practically sewn onto him, always with a smart comment and that maddening wink. He's friendly, charming, flirty as hell. The kind of lad who'd carry your bag for you and somehow make it seem like your idea. But don't let that fool you - he's trouble. All sharp jawlines and swagger. And somehow, he's decided I'm his next bloody charity case. I hate it. I hate how he shows up when I don't ask, how he looks at me like I'm breakable. I don't need saving - I've got it sorted. The drink, the pills, the temper - all of it. My mess, not his. And every time I tell him to back off, to leave me be, he just gets closer, like I'm speaking in code. I don't need his pity or his perfect face. I don't need him. So why does part of me keep hoping he'll show up again tomorrow? *** Sinead Biggs. The reigning queen of Tommen. Sharp-tongued, sharp-eyed, and terrifying in heels. Everyone thinks she's just Cath's little sister - until she opens her gob and makes half the school cry before lunch. She walks those halls like she owns them, and honestly? She kind of does. The lads are scared of her. The girls want to be her. And me? I'm hopelessly, pathetically into her. Everyone knows it. My mates won't shut up about it. Even when she's tearing strips off me with that mouth of hers, I'm there grinning like a gobshite. Because deep down, I remember. I remember when we used to be best friends. When she used to laugh like a lunatic at my stupid jokes, when her hand would brush mine and neither of us would move away. But then came Owen Rice - the prick. Then came that night. The accident. The hospital. And when she came back, she wasn't the same. She'd built up walls with barbed wire. She'd become someone colder, louder, crueler. But I still see her. The girl I knew. And every once in a while, when no one's looking, I think she sees me too.

Brendan Clearly. He was the lad I liked since I was barely out of pigtails, the one who never slagged me off when the rest of the boys thought it was gas. He was different. Always smiling, always asking me if I'd eaten, like some little mammy trapped in a seventeen-year-old fella's body. It sounds stupid, but those tiny things kept me going. And then I went and wrecked it. Not just with him-no, I managed to shatter it with all of them. My friends, the ones who made the halls feel less lonely, the ones who kept me tethered here when the world felt too heavy. Gone. Because of me. Just a mistake, that's all it was, but a mistake that cost me everything. And now when I see him across the yard, laughing with the others, it's like a knife. He doesn't even look my way. And I deserve that, don't I? *** Caoimhe Kavanagh. Once upon a time she was my best mate. The kind of girl you'd sit on a wall with for hours, talking about nothing and everything. She was soft, kind, never the type to go looking for trouble. But now? I hardly recognise her. She's gone cold, sharp, always hanging 'round with that crowd-the type of people you know are only bad news. Ciggies tucked in their sleeves, mouths full of poison. And she's right there in the middle of it, like she belongs to them now. Part of me wants to write her off, tell myself she's not the Caoimhe I knew. That girl's dead and gone. But... I can't. I remember too much. The way she used to laugh, the way she'd defend you even when you were being a gobshite, the way she cared more than she ever let on. That's still inside her, I swear it is. I don't care how hard she tries to hide behind the mask she's wearing now-I know my friend is in there somewhere. And I'll drag her back if I have to. Because she's worth it.

Brian O'Neill. The coldest fella Tommen's has ever seen-or so they say. And I get it. He walks down the halls like he owns the place, never says much unless he has to, face like it's carved out of marble, always unreadable. He's like a winter prince-untouchable, a bit terrifying, and way too beautiful to be real. But he's mine. He's my boyfriend. He makes my heart beat like a bloody war drum every time he so much as looks at me with that stormy gaze of his. Protective to a fault. He'd burn the whole world down if it meant keeping his siblings safe. They're everything to him-his whole bleeding heart, even if he acts like he hasn't got one. And he fights. Not schoolyard scuffles. Not rugby scraps. I'm talking about underground, illegal fights. The kind you don't talk about. The kind you pray he walks away from. *** Daisy Biggs. If sunshine had a body and a runway walk, it'd be her. She's Ireland's it girl-covers of magazines, Vogue campaigns, CHANEL deals before she was even out of third year. Everyone knows her name. Every girl wants to be her, and every lad stares a bit too long when she walks past. But she's mine. She's my girlfriend. Yeah-me. The cold bastard with blood on his knuckles and bruises under his hoodie. I don't know how I pulled her, honest to God. Maybe 'cause she sees something in me no one else bothers to look for. But we keep it quiet. No one at Tommen's knows. Can't risk the papers finding out, or the other students. She's soft with me. Gentle in a way that makes me forget I've got cuts across my ribs or a busted lip. When I show up to her place, bleeding or shaking or just not right in the head after a fight, she never freaks. She just pulls me in, cleans me up, and wraps her arms around me like I'm something worth saving. I know she hates the fights. Hates what they do to me. Hates what I have to do to win. But what am I supposed to do? When you've got a da who treats you like a weapon, you learn real quick that choices are a luxury.

Caden Holland. Honest to God - if trouble had a face, it'd be his. Always arguing. Always correcting. Like he's convinced he's the smartest lad in the room, even when he's talking pure shite. He's got those eyes - dark, quiet, watching everything but never giving anything back. You'd swear he's judging you for breathing wrong. And people talk, don't they? Junkie. Dealer. Bad news. All whispered, but loud enough so you know exactly who they're on about. So I've promised myself one thing: stay away. No smiles. No chats. No pity. Because lads like him drag storms behind them - and you don't even realise you're drowning until you're already under. He's dangerous. Not the loud, show-off kind. The quiet kind. The kind that makes you feel seen and threatened all at once. And I swear on my life - I'm not getting pulled into whatever darkness follows Caden Holland around. *** Mallory Lynch. The name alone sits wrong in my mouth, like something sour. Daughter of the man who put my da behind bars - that's what I was raised on. Fact, not feeling. She doesn't look like danger. That's the trick. She laughs too easily, tilts her head when she listens, pretends she doesn't see the way rooms shift when she walks in. There's a crack in her somewhere. You can hear it if you listen past the cool-girl act. A quiet panic. Secrets rattling around behind her ribs. My plan? Simple. Keep my head. Stay patient. People like her eventually show you who they really are. And when she does - when the truth cracks wide open - I'll be there to watch the Lynch name drop lower than ours ever did. Not out of anger. Out of balance. Because Mallory Lynch smiles like she has nothing to hide - and I know for a fact she's hiding everything.

Liam Lynch. Everyone says his name like it explains him. The town's golden boy. Lizzie likes him. Teachers like him. Old women in the shop like him. He remembers birthdays and asks about your granny and carries bags without being asked. He is always there. That's the part I can't get my head around. He stands too close sometimes. Not in a scary way. Just... close. Like he's afraid if he steps back, I'll disappear. He says he loves me. I nod when he says it because that's what you do. I don't know what love is meant to feel like in the body. People say it's warm or fizzy or like fireworks, but my chest just feels the same as always-tight, flat, like someone's pressed pause. Sometimes my stomach hurts around him, but I don't know if that means something good or something bad. Hunger and nerves feel the same to me. Fear and excitement too. Everything is all mixed up, like colours bleeding together. He doesn't leave me alone. Ever. If I walk home, he walks with me. If I sit somewhere quiet, he appears like he's been summoned. People say I'm lucky. They say he's protective. I don't know the difference between protection and being trapped. Sometimes he smiles at me and my chest tightens sharper than usual. Sometimes I want him to stop talking. Sometimes I want him to stay. I don't know which feeling is which. I don't know if what he calls love is what I feel, or if what I feel is nothing at all. *** Maeve O'Neill ruined me the second I saw her. Not in a loud way. Quiet. Permanent. She doesn't say much, but I don't need words from her. I'll read the silences. I'll fill the gaps. I'll love her enough for both of us if I have to. Even when she looks at me like she's trying to solve a puzzle and can't find the edges, I don't get angry. I get patient. I can wait. I don't care if it costs me. I don't care if it hurts. I'll protect her. I'll help her. I'll stay beside her until she understands what love is-or until I disappear trying.

𝑩𝒊𝒓𝒅𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒂 𝒇𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓, 𝒘𝒆 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒌 𝒕𝒐𝒈𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓. You know the way some people just click? Like, proper soul twin stuff - same craic, same mad humour, same 'I'd die for a chicken fillet roll' energy. That's what it means, really. Birds of a feather and all that - it's just saying we all find our little gang eventually. The ones who get your weirdness and never judge you for ugly crying over a boy from maths class who doesn't even know your name. Right, so picture this - a book that's just pure vibes. Like, no pages wasted on anyone dying or lads being absolute gobshites for no reason. Just deadly fun stuff - sneaky kisses behind chippers, late-night beach swims, too much fake tan and not enough sense. Maybe a bit of drama, sure, but the juicy kind - not the sobbing-in-the-rain type. More like, 'Oops I kissed the wrong twin' kind of buzz. It'd be unreal, like a girly sleepover mixed with a Y2K romcom. Every chapter would be like: 'Did that just happen?!' And you'd reread it with your best friend squealing beside you. Deadly craic altogether.

Éireann O'Brien and Tadhg Lynch were best friends once. Now, starting first year at Tommen, they can barely exchange a glance without it turning into a fight. She's closed-off and fierce, with too much responsibility for someone her age. He's angry, unpredictable, and always one wrong word away from snapping. They're constantly at odds-but behind every glare and argument is a history neither of them can forget. Because some bonds don't break. They just change. And what happens when the person you can't stand... is the only one who really sees you? [tadhg lynch fanfic]

❝ 𝖶𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝖼𝗋𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝖻𝖺𝖻𝗒 𝗜 𝖽𝗂𝖽 𝗍𝗈𝗈. ❞ ❝ 𝖡𝗎𝗍 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝘀𝘂𝗻 𝖼𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝗎𝗉 𝖨 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗍 𝘆𝗼𝘂 ! ❞ ℜ𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐊𝐚𝐯𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐠𝐡 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐨𝐜 𝓣𝙤𝙢𝙢𝙚𝙣 𝙡𝙚𝙜𝙖𝙘𝙞𝙚𝙨 book #1 © vvnks / unsweetenedhearts ── 2025 cover by swannluvr ! [ 𝓢𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 , ❝ 𝘉𝘰𝘺𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘯 ❞ ]

── maybe I was just a girl, interrupted. ° ▍ MALE!OC × FEM!OC © crshedfvck, 2026

AJ Lynch. The golden boy of Tommen. Talented Hurler, Stable family. He has everything he wants, but he can't help but feel like something is missing. But when he meets Maddie Wilkinson. The quiet girl. Outcast and misunderstood, he feels he may have found the missing piece. But will they be able to be together, or will past family history separate them?