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"You're atheist," I remind him. "You don't believe in god." "I believe in you," He murmurs, letting the cigarette hang from his lips. "I believe in whatever you believe." He says, letting the confession roll off his tongue as if it were that simple. As if god, the devil, heaven, hell-as if none of it really had meaning to him. "That's not how it works," I mutter as we walk down a few more alleyways-the city of Manhattan coated in a light blanket of snow. Henry Vitiello had never had anything to pray for, that is, until he met me-the only thing that had ever opened his mind up to the possibility of religion "Isn't it?" He argues, taking the cigarette by his middle and pointer finger before blowing the smoke out. "I'II dip my hands in holy water if it means I could touch you." "You'd probably burn." 𓆩♡𓆪 𝐇𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐘 𝐕𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐎, the reaper. He's a prick. An asshole. A pretentious son of a bitch. He's not perfect. He's not even decent. But he's hers. She could be a bottle labeled poison but he was an alcoholic, and he had drunk her empty. Now he was hungover. 𝐉𝐀𝐍𝐄 𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒, the healer. She's known to be the perfect good girl, with perfect grades and a perfect life with a perfect family. They didn't know that behind the gated doors of their billion dollar estate, she was strapped down to a chair every night and picked apart just to be put back together in time for supper. 𓆩♡𓆪 star-crossed; adjective (of a person or a plan) thwarted by bad luck. 'star-crossed lovers' and that, they were. So they fucked under those very stars that tried so desperately to break them apart. 𓆩♡𓆪 ‼️DISCLAIMER ‼️ BOOK REFERENCES TO MARA DYER, SHATTER ME, MIND FUCK, ETC ARE ALL INTENTIONAL SO DONT BE RUDE. AS FOR TRIGGER WARN

𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄 𝐕𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐎 The Punisher. "I know you're acting like a brat just because you want to be choked, sweetheart." 𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊 The Healer. "I love you." I say, and stab him. ☆ "You look pretty with blood all over your face." He caresses my thigh with one hand and tugs at my hair with the other. My breath hitches at the sudden urge to draw closer to him and let him mark me as his all over. To let him claim me and claim the breath that i'm holding. It belongs to him. I belong to him. He's a bad idea. A disaster, to say the least, but I'm worse. ☆ Her's her brother's childhood best friend. She's his childhood best friend's little sister. They're both stubborn and have never gotten along. But one day, Violet finds that Dante's the only boy who can act as her fake boyfriend when her crazy ex, Ace Gray, betrays her, and she needs someone to make him regret his life choices. What Ace doesn't know is, she's crazier. She's crazier than any crazy ex she's ever had. When Violet and Dante have to spend a few weeks as a "happy" couple together, after a few late night talks and drinks, moments where she gets pushed against walls, tension, parties and drunken confessions, "forced and unwanted" touching and kisses to convince others, sweet nothings, Violet's heart starts beating faster and faster whenever Dante is even mentioned. He becomes the shoulder she can bury her face in. He handles her like no other man ever could. All along, she's never known that he's been craving her ever since the day he laid his eyes on her. He knows he has no right to touch her, crave her like air, but he does both. And when he puts his mouth on hers, he recognises the taste of her, like she's been made just for him. They flirt by holding knives on each other's throats.